Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) (56 page)

They had it covered, Sandy knew ... fired a long burst into Berth 13 to scare whoever was there, and received the thump of an RPG in return, saw it coming on a flame-trail streaking across the tarmac and threw herself into a calculating leftward run-and-dive for the wall ... BOOM!! the shockwave shuddered ... fire-tracking her to the wall, riddling punctures through the broad hydraulic piping running across there, a half-blinding spray of green fluid as she pressed left shoulder to the bulkhead and returned fire ...

Huge series of explosions from the buildings behind, tac-net flaring heat and fury before SWAT Four's position, terse shouts from Vanessa, snap-firing and an advance forward in pairs ... suddenly the way was being cleared ... Sandy realised something was burning on the hangar wall above her, and was not greatly surprised when the next grenade went shooting that way. She leapt right and kept sprinting, hurdling wheelbraces and access elevators for the hangar's other side as the explosion took out fuel lines on the wall in a massive fireball that set the entire wall burning ... she smashed a foot into the side access door and went through it, confronted immediately by a cramped upward stairway of metal rails and ferrocrete, up which she exploded a flight at a time ... booted the upper door off its hinges and plunged down the short adjoining corridor to the main north wing, obliterated that door in similar fashion and ducked a glance out ... she was in the passenger walk-in from the waiting lounge. Ran quickly up the walk, cranked that heavy door open and was in the lounge itself, rows of empty seats behind a heavy glass partition from the main wing thoroughfare ... like spaceports/airports everywhere, in her short experience with such things. Except that charging up the long walking hall of this spaceport came several heavily armoured SWAT troops at full sprint alongside the long pedestrian conveyor belts, weapons levelled, ignoring her as they passed, tac-net already having identified her position ...

"Watch Berth 14," she told them, quickly hurdling rows of chairs, "I still don't have an ID on the occupant." Smashed a fist through the heavy glass, then crashed shoulder-first into the long, straight hallway, trading the old rifle magazine for a fresh one from the hip-pouch ... quick glance back at the choking smoke obscuring all view far down the end of the main building-several more SWAT troops charging her way ... and that would be Vanessa, bringing up the rear on short legs. Those were the FIA-fixed booby trap explosives she'd seen blow-those huge explosions from where SWAT Four had been pinned-Vanessa had found a way to detonate them herself ... she admitted herself puzzled, she knew of several tricks but nothing with the capabilities SWAT Four possessed. But where capabilities were concerned, there was SWAT Four, there were SWAT procedures, and then there was Vanessa ...

"Ari," she called as she broke into a run, "stay with Kazuma, keep down and don't get exposed."

"I got it ..." And another call cut in over the top ...

"Snowcat, this is HQ, Berth 14 is occupied by a shuttle registered to the Diligent, currently in stand-off orbit from Markov Station ... "

"I copy, HQ ... SWAT Four, hold and cover!" Ahead the running troopers dropped to skidding, clattering halts just short of where the thoroughfare ahead opened into a broad circular space. Sandy kept running, accelerating to a loping, over-accelerated gait with explosive thrusts of her legs. "Berth 14 is a League shuttle! Full caution, target left is not secure!" Marking tac-net red-hostile with a mental impulse, sliding in feet-first beside Singh, rolling at the last moment to come over face-first and rifle-braced.

The broad, circular waiting area had two berths, 14 diagonally to the left, and 15 diagonally to the right. Scan-entry consoles and service desks were deserted, security doors across the exits closed and, according to tac-net, locked. Sandy didn't trust that reading for a second. Semi-circular arrangements of waiting seats for passengers, an inbuilt cafe to the left, a display arrangement for the Tanushan tourist bureau to the right, touch-screen and interactive. Before the waiting seats a flatscreen TV displayed a realtime image from some aircar beyond the spaceport perimeter ... a newsfeed, camera focused with no doubt horrified fascination upon the various plumes of smoke rising from different locations across the spaceport grounds. To the best of her memory, it was the first time she'd ever done an op on live net-broadcast before.

Clatter-thump as Vanessa slid in beside her.

"They didn't get a berth right next to an FIA ship by accident," Vanessa said off-net, voice muffled behind the faceplate of heavy SWAT armour. "They must have finagled it."

Sandy's mind raced. Remembered Ramoja's explanations. The change of League government, the new League factions sent out to Callay to help "put things straight." Diligent, however, was not the ship Ramoja had arrived on ... that was the Rodriguez, it and Diligent had come in together from League space, both military-registered cruisers, high on power, low on mass, very little crew space ... courier vessels, as they were commonly known. Each carried its own shuttle ... this was no doubt one, presently docked in Berth 14, its ID kept silent for security protocol reasons, the League admitting to no "official delegation" at this moment.

A new League government sent two courier ships to address the problem the old League government had helped create on Callay. One held Ramoja, a senior and apparently trusted League Intelligence officer, plus a complement of additional GIs for extra muscle. Those GIs were Dark Star ... military, not Intelligence. Were all of them on Rodriguez? What was Diligent doing here? And why had they only just sent their shuttle down now, and arranged for it to get a berth directly alongside a shuttle they'd assuredly know belonged to the FIA? Unless ...

Unless they knew something was going to happen. Ramoja's stolen information from the Zaiko Warren that she'd chased him to try and uncover. Stolen from Sai Va's friends. Sai Va hadn't been able to crack the codes and discover Neiland's plan for the relocation of Federation governance. Ramoja was Intel, and however good the Tanushan underground, she doubted they quite measured up to League Intel's capabilities ... especially given the League's longstanding underground presence in Tanusha. Ramoja had probably cracked Sai Va's information in a few hours, and discovered what Neiland was up to. That done, it couldn't have been a difficult guess for him that the FIA would want Governor Dali off-planet by any means necessary. Intel's obsession with a low profile meant he couldn't intervene directly. But now a mysterious second shuttle had come down from the second League ship in orbit and had just happened to dock beside the FIA shuttle of Dali's intended get-away ...

Tac-net gave her no reading on the shuttle's readiness, those systems were totally closed off, except to register on basic flight control that engines were powered up and preparing to leave. It should be leaving right about now, especially when they'd hurried up the sequence. It wasn't.

"Everyone just hold," she said on tac-net, "we might be okay here." Recalled Ramoja's access codings, which she'd managed to glean from their brief contact ... penetrated the local net infrastructure as far as the main-level grid for the north wing. Berth 15 was impenetrable, severed totally from the surrounding network. Berth 14 ...

She sent a basic connection frequency, nothing threatening. A knock on the door. It uplinked immediately, an unfolding of multilayered, very familiar League security protocols.

"Cassandra Kresnov?" asked a cool, unhurried voice in her inner ear ... and she switched it to broadcast on tac-net so the others could hear.

"That's me," she sent back. "Can you advise me as to the present status of the vessel currently docked in Berth 15?"

"Berth 15 has been secured by League operatives," came the voice. Just like that. The FIA had evidently been in too much hurry to notice the new shuttle that had docked alongside, and had left themselves wide open. And she felt a surge of temper ... it could have saved a lot of trouble if they'd told her earlier instead of persisting with this clandestine nonsense. But then, she supposed, it appeared to have worked.

"Our thanks on behalf of the Callayan Government for your assistance," she said. "We now request that you hand over Governor Dali and any surviving FIA personnel to our lawful custody."

"Of course. Please stand by." The connection broke. There was still some sporadic shooting on tac-net, Zago and Sharma were keeping the several survivors across on the west wing pinned down with well placed gunfire from the roof, and then there were those shooters holed up in Berth 13 ...

"Squad Two," Sandy said, "get back down to Berth 13, they're not headed north with League GIs in Berth 14. Make sure they don't get into the wing, and someone try to tell them the game's up, might be nice to interview some live ones."

A clatter as six of the surrounding, covering troopers got up and ran back down the wing. And Sandy found time to wonder if she hadn't gotten just a little too callous about the lives of Federal Intelligence Agency personnel of late ... just yesterday she'd been agonising over the lives of terrorists, now she just felt ... nothing.

It was hatred, cold and simple. Hatred at what they'd done to her personally, at what they stood for, the innocent lives they'd cost in pursuit of a cause founded primarily on xenophobia and intolerance. Not a violent, boiling hatred ... rather a cold indifference as to whether they lived or died. If they got in her way, they'd die. The onus, as she saw it, was on them to stay out of her way. She'd come a long way in her new life as a civilian. But she knew she was a long, long way from becoming a pacifist.

Movement up the passenger access from Berth 15, a shift of light on her most sensitised vision.

"They're coming out. Everyone hold position, we don't know if this place is rigged." Another fast vision-scan across the broad, circular waiting room, multi-spectrum, scanning for possible tampering and finding nothing. But FIA agents were well trained in this sort of thing, and a booby rig might just have been stuffed under a chair to blow the place apart. It would give a trigger signal, which might give advance warning of a second or two, but no more than that ...

Figures moving up the passenger access behind the glass security door. It slid open on a signal-they were system-locked, then, patched in to that part of the network. She revised her possible scenarios, and levered herself smoothly into a compact crouch for a better firing angle over the chairs, sighting calmly along the rifle. If something went down, she knew damn well she'd be the first target. At this range, with limited possibilities for her to cover, she didn't think it would make any difference, GIs or not ... she was that good, and she knew it. She hoped they knew it too.

A man walked from the open access of Berth 15, casually dressed, sports jacket and cargo pants ... she filed a mental note about the cargo pants, it seemed every GI subjected to civvies chose them for casual wear. It was becoming a dead giveaway. Something to remember on future covert ops. He was armed, a light STZ assault weapon, common League Intel issue. A woman followed, similarly dressed and armed. Both took up alert, ready positions on either side of the open door.

"GIs," Sandy said, in case they hadn't figured it out ... if the thirty-five degree body temperature wasn't giveaway enough, the coiled, effortlessly controlled poise in their stance made it doubly obvious. She looked like that herself when she moved. Each weapon was held in comfortable cross-brace, unthreatening yet ready.

The next man emerged. Ramoja. His eyes found her immediately ... no confusion despite the line of armoured SWAT troopers levelling weapons at him from the thoroughfare entrance ... her head was bare unlike the others, and her blonde hair under the partial headset was obvious. But she suspected he would have known anyway, as she could have picked him just as easily from a group of straights.

"Agent Kresnov," he called cheerfully across the broad space. "We meet again, and this time our weapons find common cause. I have a present for you."

And he stepped aside, giving full view of the next man to emerge from the passenger access ... a tall, dark-skinned man with deep, sallow eyes and a nervous, trembling gait. Governor Dali. He looked very, very scared, hair dishevelled, his expensive dark suit rumpled, flanked behind by another two GIs. They hadn't even bothered to restrain him-a GI's typical disregard of any straight's ability to resist, particularly an untrained civilian.

"Where are the other FIA?" she called. "Is the fire-grid down?"

"Oh yes, there was merely one woman with a hand-comp, only able to select targets, no more subtle control than that. We have her and the second-in-command restrained, the leader and two aides unfortunately resisted with lethal force, leaving us with little choice."

Sandy nodded reluctantly ... in close quarters even GIs couldn't always shoot to wound against trained, augmented, heavily armed opponents. No GI was immortal against modern weapons, and most were not suicidal, unless tape-trained to be otherwise. She was not, however, about to call HQ just yet and give them the all-clear. She hadn't survived this many firefights by taking things for granted.

"This space is clear," Ramoja added, "we swept it thoroughly, and FIA field combat tactics frown upon the emplacement of defensive explosives so close to operational HQ."

"I've discovered many commanders neither read nor practise field manuals," Sandy said blandly. And she got up, lowering her weapon. "Guys, check it out, full sweep. No slacking." She meant more than just booby traps. By the careful, ready way they moved out, she knew they heard her. She grasped the rifle at comfortable cross-hold, and swaggered coolly across the floor ... the seal on the carpeted centre of the circular space, she noted, was a Federation Sunburst and Stars-the vertical outline of a Tanushan skyline emblazoned behind, "Welcome to Callay" in curving English above, and again in Sanskrit below. The ceiling above had been overlaid with an orange blaze of sunset upon a broken, cloudy sky, a striking image to confront passengers just arrived from weeks or months of travel in the cold, black void of space. She'd only just now noticed how startling the colour was that burned across the circular ceiling-in the heat-motion sensitive mode of combat vision, there were a lot of ordinary things she could no longer see. Beautiful things. Underground techies no doubt thought it wonderful to possess the sensory abilities she did. Personally, she preferred normal light. Life without sunsets held little appeal for her.