Originator (19 page)

“
Snowcat, ETA is . . . can we get a . . . ?
”

“
Ten seconds
,” came someone else's voice, from inside the building. “
Keep your panties on
.”

“
Not wearing any
,” said Sandy. A few years back that would have broken tension amongst nervous troops in the back, gotten a few giggles. Now it provoked only lazy or minor smiles among cool, professional troops who'd seen this all before and were visualising exactly where they were and what was about to happen. GIs, nearly half of them, in separate squads but mixed teams.

SO1, Vanessa's flyer, now orbited Bhubaneswar a kilometre out, low amidst the teeming air traffic so as not to draw attention. Sandy was in transit too, SO4, now entering a similar orbit. SO2 had hoppers aboard, armoured troops with jumpjets, useful at altitude, but they wouldn't fit comfortably in those tower corridors. Standoff firepower only. On the ground, cops were
gathering, Vanessa could hear multiple shouts and terse calls for direction in the background noise—someone had that under control, she couldn't worry about that now. A move too soon, and whoever was in Lotus Tower would see, and they'd be blown.

Then a new vision feed, fast and darting outside a window. Fly-cam, the troops called it, not easily spotted, but the feed was clean enough. Here a living room, tables and chairs, some odd-looking equipment . . . two people, in conversation with a third, unseen off-screen. Tacnet added those two to the schematic, its first hostile red dots. Then a third, as the camera bobbed and panned. The third person was working on something at a table, invisible at this angle.

“That's good,” said Vanessa, looking at all the rear rooms in this apartment suite that tacnet still painted a blank, static grey. “We need more, back-rooms if you can.”

“
Looks like they're going somewhere
,” someone else remarked. It did, as one shouldered a bag. A fourth, a woman, entered from another room, pulling on a jacket. Tacnet added another red dot by the bathroom doorway, tracking across the carpet to the balcony window. Fly-cam gained altitude, and the red dots froze, blinking, indicating last-seen position. “
That's four. No weapons yet
.”

“
There's more
,” said Sandy. “
I'm seeing a loose communication matrix, like a low-grade version of tacnet. They're not all on this level, and they're not all in this room
.”

Fucking great, Vanessa thought, as her general level of optimism plunged several points. “Sandy, can you fool them? Pull the wool over their eyes? We gotta move these people. If we go in hot like this we're gonna have some motherfucking collateral.”

“
I'm geographically limited on that capability
,” Sandy replied, slow and clear to be sure Vanessa would understand. “
I can only get the targets in the room
.”

“Great. Do it. I want . . .”

“
This is infiltration. We're reading explosive, mil-grade. Someone's got bombs in there
.”

New vision acquired from some nearby tower, blurred and looking through the windows . . . several people in the apartment were definitely preparing to go out, pulling on jackets, carrying bags. Once they got out of the apartment, into these crowds, the best chance of settling it relatively quietly disappeared. But one did not just walk out the door on the way to a terrorist operation; they'd be methodical. She still had some minutes.

“Sandy, if you can blind them, I'm going in hot. Everyone, spec ops is hot on my command. Let's get those cops on the ground and clear the streets on my signal.”

She half expected to see the little light in the corner of her vision flash, indicating someone higher up wanted to talk to her. President Raza technically had a say on the maglev train, but that was because of the visibility. If she stopped this now, it would only be visible after the terrorists were all dead. Ibrahim, of course, would not call her at all. He trusted his people and would back her decisions whatever the outcome. And wear the blame if it all went wrong.

“
Vanessa, they're transmitting on NCT bandwidths, so no guarantees. But I think I've got them. Go now
.”

“This is Jailbait, go go go.” As Gs pressed them flat, the flyer turning hard and shrieking at full power. On the feed she could see police cars rushing the streets, sirens blaring, speakers yelling at everyone to move, run, get the hell away from Lotus Tower. Somewhere in that apartment on the forty-ninth floor, their targets were now locked into Sandy's VR matrix, the same trick Cai liked to pull on everyone, using uplink VR functions to activate in combination with actual surroundings, causing people to see whatever Sandy wanted them to see. Or not see. Like the view out the window, as the teeming streets around the tower suddenly cleared of traffic, and then of pedestrians, replaced instead by swarms of red-and-blue flashing lights and uniforms.

“
Fifteen seconds
,” said the pilot. “
Stand by
.”

“Squad One, fast rappel, main window,” said Vanessa. “Squad Two, side window. Get the corridor, come through fast. Squad Three, reserve rappel.” Illustrating with mental diagrams on tacnet as she did it, little dots and arrows as second nature as sentences. “Got it? Good.”

Pointless question that was. They practised this, one aspect or another, every single day.

Heavy Gs as the flyer howled and flared, rear door cracking to let in the gale. Tacnet showed her their position, and then the towertop landing pad was coming beneath them. . . . “Move! Move! Move!” And she was unstrapping, coming last down the aisle as those before her leaped from the rear, twisting and rolling on the pad . . . then she was out, a quick fall then impact and roll, the suit made it easy, taking all the force.

Then running to the edge of the pad, rappel hook over one shoulder as the mechanism activated. She paused at the rim, a four-hundred-meter drop sheer off the edge of the world and no time to think about it, fed the hook through the belt loop, crouched and placed it on the steel rim of the landing pad. Pressed the seal, and it flashed, smoke and fire, welding hard and immovable in a second. A hiss of steam as coolant released, then it was firm.

A quick glance about the pad showed the rest of her team in position, silhouettes against the urban blaze of a Tanushan night. Tacnet showed all good, no vocals required.

“All good! Go!” She jumped, head-first down the building side, the suit feed automatically orienting her as she came down on the whizzing windows, a hand squealing against high-speed glass to steady as the other grasped her rifle, strapped on the shoulder in case she lost it. Far below, like ants, police vehicles and a chaos of sweeping lights.

“
Vanessa, I lost them
,” came Sandy's voice. “
They're out, they've seen us
.” A brief visual showed her a glimpse of someone staring out the window at the cars below.

“SO2,” Vanessa called her fire support. “Fire.” A mark appeared on tacnet, accelerating as it went. The viewer at the window saw, eyes wide, and ran like hell. Vanessa kept her head down, sliding fast, leg entwined with the steel cord at speeds that would have shredded an unprotected leg. Below her, a missile streaked into the forty-ninth floor window, and a massive fireball blew out.

She reached it four seconds later, pushing out with a hand then swinging in and head first. Hit the floor amidst smoke and flaming debris, fire retardant blasting from the ceiling, and cut the cord. And walked forward in formation, weapon ready, searching the impossible visibility. The walls seemed intact, the missile charge had been an airburst—the surrounding apartments occupied and as yet uncleared.

Gunfire erupted from a hole in the wall, return fire shredded it. Vanessa pumped in a grenade, in no mood for compromise, and debris blasted back across the room. More gunfire from a new angle, and everyone hit the ground, rolling for cover, returning fire . . . fanatics to be fighting hard in these circumstances, and Vanessa remembered the explosives here and rolled up to dash down the corridor.

Came face-to-face with someone in a doorway, blood streaked and wild
eyed. Shoved them flying across the room and shot the next armed man through the head, a spray of brains across the wall, attention then to the woman on the bed. . . . Medical equipment, life support, bandaged sides. Half alive, it looked, but raising a gun at her with one hand. . . . Vanessa sidestepped and smacked it from her hand.

Another explosion outside, then a huge one, smashing through the walls and deafening her audio. Gunfire, as the second team came through the corridor outside, having gained access from the neighbouring apartment. And tacnet showed one down and vitals unsteady. . . .

“
Galley's down!
” Azim was yelling. “
Need a medic in here asap!
”

“
I'm okay
,” Galley replied dazedly. “
Just winded
.”

“
Clear! Clear, all clear! Level 49 is clear!
”

“Check those neighbouring apartments!” Vanessa yelled. “No blind spots! Clear it up!”

“
Vanessa
,” came Sandy's voice, “
that's a human bomb you've got there. Put her out
.”

Vanessa stared. The bandages were recent and bloody. On neighbouring tables were covered cases, perhaps for tools, perhaps medical. The life support was definitely medical, monitoring heart rate, blood pressure, just a small portable screen running a downloadable program.

“I can't put her out, I'm not equipped.”

“
Then shoot her before she self detonates
.” The woman's eyes were staring madly, lips trying to form some words beneath hearing. Some incantation. A shot from behind Vanessa blew half her head off, and Vanessa swore, turning away.

“
Sorry
,” said Taga, not sounding a bit sorry. He stepped past her to check the rest of the room. “
Still got a live one here?
” Looking at the one Vanessa had pushed flying into the wall, head lolled, eyes closed.

“Might not be rigged,” said Vanessa, walking away. Really wishing she hadn't seen that last bit, her head pounding, an awful taste in her mouth. “Be nice to question one of them.”

“
The one that got Galley was rigged
,” said Taga, moving to check the unconscious man, tearing away clothes to check for scars or bandages. “
Just blew himself up
.”

“Sandy, if you're right we've still got some loose in the building.” She walked into the hall, through showers of fire retardant and smoke, flashing
lights and sirens from the building emergency systems. Someone killed the noise, mercifully. Here in the entry hall, all the door and wall were gone. Vanessa stepped past shattered remains into the corridor outside, and here lay Galley, on the point of entering when the human bomb had detonated. His helmet was still on because of the smoke, and Vanessa thought he was likely stunned rather than hurt—a GI, they got rattled by explosive concussion just like straights.

“
Got one
,” came a call from farther down. A stairwell, tacnet informed her. “
Heading downstairs, pulled a gun on me
.”

“Alive?” asked Vanessa.

“
Um . . . nearly
.”

“Dammit guys, Intel needs some more live ones if we're gonna find the source.” As Azim and Wolder grabbed Galley under the arms and dragged him to the farside elevators, heading upstairs for some air. Vanessa headed into the neighbouring apartment door, smashed off its hinges by her second squad into an identical suite layout. The fire retardant poured down here too, a mother and father clustered in the kitchen hugging two terrified, screaming children . . . great. She strode to the smashed windows where the second squad had gained entry, disconnected rappel cables swinging in the breeze.

“We're gonna have them coming downstairs fast! Don't let them get into the streets or we'll . . .”

“
Too late!
” someone shouted, with a blurred, jolting visual from somewhere on street level, a man in a long coat sprinting, bag in hand, from tower doors onto the cleared sidewalk. Cleared, except for several cops, who were now in the line of fire of other cops, yelling and shouting at each other to get down.

Vanessa pulled her rifle up, sighting down the tower side as shots rang out, glass fracturing along the retail sidewalk, holographic displays imploding. . . . “Snipers!” she yelled. “Someone get me an angle!” Because she had none, she saw, sidewalk trees blocking the way, and banners for some upcoming parade strung across the road every thirty meters.

“
Got nothing!
” came the return call.

“
I'm blocked!
”

And the cops, terrified at nearly hitting each other, were now recovering to aim at the running man's back . . . only to find the street behind him still
full of crowds clearing the area, and more cops doing crowd control with their backs turned.

“Shoot him!” Vanessa yelled on police frequency. “This is SO1, shoot him now, he's a bomb, he'll take a hundred with him!” Someone fired, hitting a tree. Another shot, a window collapsed. “Fuck!”

The running man plunged into crowds and cops. “
He's heading for the subway entrance!
” A bomb in there could be worst of all, entire train platforms massacred. . . .

“
Hang on
,” came Sandy's voice. And tacnet showed her jumping, lightly armoured with no rappel line, off the top of the nearby three-hundred-meter-tall building. Spread-eagled as she fell, and aiming, rifle to shoulder.

Exclamations from her soldiers watching. “
No fucking way!
” Ming summarised. But in free fall, the gaps between those cursed banners opened up, and the angle past the obscuring trees. A GI's arm would brace steel-solid if need be, internal armscomp and weaponscomp aligning; she could see to millimetre precision exactly where the bullet would hit. Account in turn for a gathering 300-kph crosswind, downward velocity, deflection, five hundred meters range, on a single target amongst all those running, milling crowds. . . .