Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel (34 page)

Even from the shadow of the alley, Niobe could see the smug way Quanta strutted out of the warehouse. It made no difference that a hood covered his face and energy cuffs bound his hands together. The squad of Met Div officers surrounding him could have been an honour guard, escorting him from his limousine to accept an award for supervillain of the year.

She tapped the dashboard with her finger, trying to hold back the magma inside her. Sam was in there, she knew it. But the cape coppers were swarming around the place like ants, loading metas into vans and high-sec transport trucks under half a dozen floodlights. It didn’t make it any easier that she was the one who called them in the first place. She’d had to; it was Quanta’s territory. She could only have given his gang the run-around for so long before they got their act together and brought their numbers to bear. She needed the cavalry.

She could see Senior Sergeant Wallace barking orders at men a good head taller than him. The coppers obeyed without question. It was probably the moustache that did it. His mouth kept moving, but his gaze never left Quanta as his men loaded him into the biggest truck they had. The vehicle was armour-plated with a field generator on the roof, and by the looks of it, the bastard had the whole thing to himself.

The Carpenter lowered his binoculars and slouched down behind the steering wheel. “I count thirty-one arrested so far. No bodies. You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

She lifted her mask and jammed a cigarette between her lips. “Stun rounds only. I got maybe nine or ten of them before I came to talk to you.” She clicked the button on her auto-lighter, but the damn thing was on the fritz. Bloody hell. “Surprised none of them killed their mates, the amount of firepower they were putting out.” One of them had sent a throwing knife her way, and it would’ve got her if she hadn’t gone into shadow the same instant.

“He sure went quiet.” Solomon sounded like he was talking to himself.

She banged the auto-lighter against the dashboard and tried again. Nothing. “Bugger it,” she grumbled, snatching the unlit smoke from her mouth. “What did you say?”

The Carpenter pushed his hat back. “Quanta. He’s fast, Niobe. And I’ll bet my life savings that shield of his is bullet-proof.”

“You don’t have any life savings.”

“None that you know of.” He put the binoculars back to his face. “Maybe the coppers would’ve got him eventually, but he could’ve served up a nice helping of decapitations first.”

She didn’t give a damn what the bastard did. She wasn’t much enamoured of Met Div or the AAU’s metahuman laws, but they’d throw the book at him for what he’d done, and it would be a big bloody book. That was some kind of satisfaction.

Quanta knew her name, though. That grated. But she couldn’t see how he could use it against her now. Even if he sold it to Senior Sergeant Wallace for a deal, she and Gabby would be sitting cozy in a lunar rocket by the time he came knocking.

“Come on,” she said. “They’re not leaving here for a few hours. I’m starving. Let’s come back when they’ve shipped everyone off.”

“Wait,” he said, peering through the binoculars. “Who’s that guy? Doesn’t look like much of a supercriminal to me.”

“Is it Daniel O’Connor?” She switched up her magnification.

“Not unless he shrunk in the wash.”

It took her a moment to figure out who he was talking about, then she spotted him. The man was young, less than thirty, shortish, and a bit flabby. All the metas being led out around him were in costume, but this guy was dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt. A single cape copper escorted him.

“I got bells going off in my head,” Solomon said. “Do you know him?”

“I saw him in there when I was searching for Sam. Just hiding in an office. He didn’t see me, so I left him alone. Can’t say he looks familiar, though.”

It was a curiosity, but she couldn’t see what the Carpenter was getting so worked up about. She switched off her magnification and glanced at him while he chewed his lip.

“I got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “He’s a reporter. British guy. Uh…somebody Bishop. John Bishop, that’s it.”

“Friend of yours?”

“I saw him on TV once. He’s a newspaper kid, I think, but he was in the spotlight for a while for some stories he did on a coup in Syria.”

She looked again, but he still didn’t seem familiar. Then again, she and Gabby didn’t own a TV. “He doesn’t look happy about being hauled away. Hostage?”

“Could be.”

The copper helped John Bishop into the back of a marked car. After a few minutes, some of the full vehicles formed a convoy and rumbled back towards the city. Eventually, the Carpenter lowered his binoculars again and smiled at her.

“How about that grub?” he said.

They changed into civilian clothes and found an all-night truck stop and diner on the main road at the fringe of the industrial district. Apart from a single trucker sitting in the corner, they had the place to themselves. The mashed potato was lumpy and the steak was tough, but Niobe gobbled it down all the same. At least it was hot. She’d forgotten how hungry combat made her.

She expected Solomon to be more excited. He got to play superhero again, and they caught the bad guy. Well, someone caught him, anyway. When she’d finished her meal and he was only halfway through his burger, she tried asking him what was wrong. He just grinned and said, “That guy was fast. He’d give Omegaman a run for his money.” But the grin faded quickly.

She was finishing off her second glass of lemonade when the Met Div vehicles started going past in convoys of three or four. The trucker in the corner noticed them too. His wide face furrowed all over as he squinted out the window, but he stayed silent until he finished his meal, waved goodbye to the waitress, and walked back to his truck.

Niobe kept count of the vehicles. After another half hour, she downed the last of her drink. “That’s all of them. Let’s go.”

When they got back to the warehouse, it was nearly deserted. Most of the floodlights were gone, and police tape covered the entrances. They parked a block away, changed back into costume, and walked the rest of the way. No traffic on the roads, not even a bird perched on the power lines. While the Carpenter climbed to the rooftop opposite to observe the front, Niobe did a quick circuit of the compound, popping in and out of shadows.

She emerged from the shadow and crouched beside the Carpenter on the rooftop. “Four coppers in two pairs, patrolling. Each pair’s got a radio. Looks like their plan is to call for backup and run like hell if any angry supercriminals show up.”

The Carpenter lowered his binoculars and nodded. “Got us an entrance?”

“Same as last time.”

They stayed clear of the streetlights as they crossed the road and moved silently along the fence line. The pair of cape coppers on the other side of the chain links weren’t the most diligent on the force; one of them had slung his rifle over his back to better hold his cigarette, while the other was so nervous he looked ready to put a round in the first stray cat unlucky enough to wander past. Niobe and Solomon waited until the coppers rounded the corner, then he pole vaulted the fence and she slipped through the shadow. Quiet as roaches, they scrambled up the stairs, cracked the lock on the door, and went inside.

The darkness inside was almost complete. Even through her mask, she could smell ash and dust and melted plastic from the fight.

The door they entered led to the head office, probably intended for a manager or foreman. Earlier in the evening she’d been too preoccupied to notice the map of Neo-Auckland pinned to one wall. She ran her fingers along the paper. Holes from thumb tacks or pins were left all across the city’s surface, but all the pins themselves were gone. She puzzled over it for a moment, tapping her cheek with her finger, but there were too many holes to make out any sort of pattern. It didn’t matter. Quanta was locked up; it was over now.

The Carpenter half-heartedly checked the desk drawers and filing cabinet.

“Anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Cleaned out.”

By Quanta or Met Div?
she wondered. Never mind. Whatever Quanta’s plan was, he’d have a hell of a time trying to conduct it from a prison cell. “We need to find Sam. There’s got to be a secret room somewhere.”

“A basement, maybe,” he said.

It was a good thought. She went out onto the catwalk and increased the contrast on her goggles. At the far end of the warehouse, she could make out a set of shelving lying toppled over like a wrecked ship, spilling its crates onto the cracked warehouse floor. Before the fight, most of the metas had been scattered around this end of the warehouse, near the loading bays. But she’d found Quanta and the Carpenter fighting near the far wall, amongst the stacks.

“Was Quanta down there when you found him?” she asked. “Away from the others?”

“Yeah. I just jumped him where I saw him.”

She put a finger to her lips and tapped them through her mask, thinking. “Let’s see what the bastard was doing down there.”

It was easy enough to find the scene of the Carpenter’s brief fight. Several crates had been bisected as if by a laser, complete with scorch marks. Now they spewed outdated, boxed kitchen appliances across the floor. Niobe and Solomon split up and tried to trace Quanta’s steps. Their footsteps echoed lightly through the warehouse.

If there were any trapdoors, they were well-hidden. She made her way around the stacks, careful to inspect any crack or crevice in the floor, but there was nothing. She wanted a cigarette. She looked around with her contrast on the highest setting, trying to picture the warehouse’s layout. If they’d had time, getting blueprints of the place would’ve been a smart idea. She’d already searched the smaller building adjoined to the main warehouse; just offices, bathrooms, that sort of thing. But Quanta had been here, amongst the stacks.
Maybe he was getting away for a cigarette too
.

Her eyes fell on the back wall, where a ladder with wheels sat against a huge dusty chalkboard. When she got close, she could make out a crack in the wall behind. She tapped it with her knuckle. The sound resonated. Hollow.

“Carpenter,” she called. She shoved the ladder out of the way, put her shoulder against the wall and pushed. It gave a little, but not all the way. “There must be a release or a button around here.” She felt along the wall to the side.

“Here’s your release,” he said.

“What?” She turned and found a crate hovering in the air in front of the blackboard. The Carpenter’s eyes glowed, his mouth split in a grin. “Wait a minute. Do you think that’s a good—?”

The crate crashed into the blackboard. Something snapped—maybe a few somethings—and the false wall rotated, leaving a gap a few feet across. Niobe cringed at the noise as it echoed around the warehouse.

“Bloody hell, Carpenter, you trying to get us caught?”

He shrugged. “We won’t be if you stop yakking and get on with it.” He stuck his head in the gap. “It’s pretty dark, but there’s stairs here.”

Now she really wanted a cigarette.
Goddamn man-child
. He disappeared down the stairway. She followed, pulling her mini-torch from her belt. The beam illuminated concrete stairs and walls streaked with damp.

The stairs looped back on themselves and brought them to a basement underneath the warehouse. The air was thick and stale. Somewhere, water dripped. A shadowed opening sat in each side of the grey corridor. Nothing moved. Niobe’s spine crawled. She freed her gun from its holster and crept forwards.

She shone her beam down the end, where one of the steel doors stood open. The room inside was empty. This door was wider than the other, the steel thick enough to stop a tank. What were they keeping down here, a war elephant?
No,
she realised.
Iron Justice.

She swept her torchlight across the other door, where it lay crumpled and dented against the wall. Her palms grew damp and her heart raced. What the hell could’ve done that?

Never mind.
I’m here, Sam.
It was over. She raced ahead of Solomon, the torchlight bouncing with every step.

She shone her beam into the cell. A mattress in one corner, stained and leaking springs. No window. No furniture.

And no Sam.

She flicked the beam around the room again. “No. Where…?” Someone had sucked the butterflies out of her stomach and left a hole in their place.

Then she saw the blood, a streak of dark red in the doorway. She bent down to examine it, heart thumping.

“It’s fresh,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “A couple of hours old, max.” Her pulse pounded in her ears. “He was here. He was fucking here!”

She didn’t remember picking up the mattress, but the next thing she knew, she was hurling it across the room. It slammed into the wall with a hollow thud and slowly toppled to the floor. She shouted wordless screams that echoed around her.

Arms enveloped her, and Solomon’s earthy scent blocked out the thick, musty smell of captivity. She struggled, almost putting her elbow into his stomach, but he held her tight. “Easy, mate. Easy.”

She wanted to cry. She wanted to smoke every cigarette she had. She wanted to go home and climb into bed with Gabby and pretend none of this had ever happened.