Codename: Night Witch (19 page)

"He's right," Marta said. "If this affects the operation, we all have a right to know."

"There is no
operation
," Sigrid said, "because none of you are coming. This is something I have to do myself."

Angel rose so quickly, he kicked his chair back, knocking it to the floor. "What? So you can take the four million for yourself? Screw that! We're going, sister."

"No," Sigrid said. "You're not." She turned then to face the magistrate directly. "It's him, Magistrate. It's Jones. He's the one you want, not the marquis. He's behind this, I swear it. I know his plan and I know how he works. If he found your daughter, I guarantee you he's found others. He's obsessed with Kimura. He'll tear those girls apart trying to duplicate Lady Kimura's research, and he won't care how many of them he kills to do it."

The magistrate fixed her with a cold stare, and in that moment Sigrid knew the woman shared her rage. "Will he succeed—duplicating her work?"

"Six years ago, I would have said no. But that was before the Independents captured me. Harry Jones had me—he had me for six years, Magistrate! If he's discovered the key to the recombinant, and I suspect he has, then he will have an army to move against you the likes of which the Consortium has never seen."

The magistrate leaned hard on the table, her fists clenched tightly.

"No expense will be spared, Ms. Novak. Weapons. Armor. Vehicles. Personnel. Whatever it takes. All of the Consortium's resources are at your disposal. You will leave in the morning. The colonel will make whatever arrangements you need. Find Jones. Find the marquis. Find them, and kill them."

~ - ~

Thoughts of home, even Suko, vanished from Sigrid's head. In their wake was the singular driving notion: to find and kill Harry Jones.

While Jaffer and the others left to take care of the transports, Sigrid remained behind with the colonel. There was one last piece of equipment she required.

Colonel Bhandari was staring at a data-pad and studying a set of schematics given to him by Sigrid. Streams of code fed across the screen, complex chains of molecules, intricate formulas.

"A stealth suit?" Colonel Bhandari said, and not without some skepticism. "You can't be serious."

"Quite serious, Colonel."

"This looks like nonsense. The random scribblings of a madwoman."

Inwardly, Sigrid smiled. This wasn't the first time her mistress had been accused of insanity. "It will work, Colonel. Trust me."

"How? The power curve alone is off the charts. And there's no power source."

"I'm the source."

"And this material. It's far too light. We could try enhancing it with some armor. Our new ablative shielding will stop a 20 mm round at range."

"It's not about stopping bullets," Sigrid said. "It's about avoiding them. This will be fine, Colonel. Make sure it's ready by morning."

Without waiting for an answer, Sigrid turned on her heel and left.

A fresh winter squall was in full force when she exited the outpost. The streets were being pounded with a steady stream of rivulets. Sigrid was soaked through within seconds, her hair plastered to her face, neck and back.

To her surprise, someone had brought her stolen longspur. It sat parked and waiting for her outside. Water and wind whipped at her face as she drove, blasting through the narrow streets at a suicidal pace. She barely blinked after narrowly missing the back end of a lumbering transport that was too slow to get out of the bloody way.

As quick as the storm swept in, the clouds had parted by the time she reached the paddock where the transports were being held. Great billows of steam rose from her shoulders and chest as she parked her ride and entered through the open gates.

Inside the paddock, Sigrid heard the familiar sounds of powered torque wrenches and arc welders as crews of Consortium mechanics set themselves upon the collection of cargo haulers. Work getting the rigs ready for the mission tomorrow was progressing at a brisk pace. The stench of melting thermoplastics and molten slag hung thick in the air.

Jaffer's rig was hoisted aloft on a massive test stand. All of the wheels had been removed. Sparks flew from giant laser welders as the crew worked on what could only be described as a series of extreme modifications. The entire suspension had been yanked in favor of a much more robust system. Jaffer's homemade armored plating had been removed as well. In its place, the Consortium mechanics were affixing a series of new coverings. While the new armor looked like scraps of discarded sheet metal, Sigrid knew this was only a disguise. The armor was made of a graphene composite, stronger and far lighter than Jaffer's old titanium plates.

Jaffer was waiting for her inside. He had his arms folded over his great chest.

"I guess we know why they had our transports in lockup," he said, jabbing his thumb toward the work going on behind him. "Looks like they started work on this last night. Blast, they
knew
we were going to say yes even before we did, didn't they."

"Jaffer, I didn't know about any of this. I swear. I didn't even know the magistrate wanted you involved until this morning."

To her relief, Jaffer simply nodded. He even grinned. "Yeah, I kinda figured that out."

"I'll get them to put everything back the way you like it. I promise."

"Hell no! The old girl was due for an overhaul. Did you know they're putting in an entire defense grid? I'm almost looking forward to trying all this out on some jackers."

Sigrid sighed. "It's not the jackers you need to worry about, Jaffer. Not even Lars."

"It's this Jones fellow, isn't it? Don't worry. We can handle him."

"He's dangerous, Jaffer. You can't underestimate the Independents. They are far more than what the newsfeeds would have you believe. And Harry Jones? Why, he might be the most dangerous man on Earth."

"More dangerous than you? Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"
Please
don't joke. This isn't some group of thugs we're going after. If Jones gets you in his sights, he won't hesitate to shoot, and he won't care how many people he kills trying. I tried to kill him before. Blast it, Jaffer, I thought I had! But Jones…" Sigrid's voice faltered. "Jaffer, that was
six years ago
."

"When I found you on the highway, you weren't escaping from some factory, were you? You were escaping from him."

Sigrid nodded.

"Well, you're free of him now. You're safe."

"But that's just it, Jaffer. I'm not."

"Sigrid…" Jaffer's brow furrowed in earnest. "Did…did Jones hurt you?"

Sigrid shook her head, thoroughly exasperated. "That's the problem.
I don't know!
He did something to me, Jaffer. Blocked my memories! The last six years of my life, they're just—gone! Every time I try to remember, all I feel is this blasted spike being pushed through my brain."

"You don't remember? Not anything?"

"Nothing! But it's worse than that. Ever since I woke up, I can't shake this horrible feeling; I-I think I've done things, Jaffer. Bad things."

"We've
all
done things we regret, sweetheart. You don't get to lay sole claim to that."

"Blast it, I'm not talking about regrets! You don't understand. Jones has hunted me all my life—me and women like me. He wants to control us, use us as weapons. He's tried before. He tried and failed. But, Jaffer, what if…what if he succeeded with me?"

Jaffer scoffed. "Control you? Impossible."

"Don't be so sure."

Sigrid pulled back her hair to reveal the access port to her PCM hidden behind her ear.

Jaffer leaned in, squinting for a better look. "What the hell am I looking at?"

"It's the access port to my Primary Control Module."

"Primary-con-what?"

"It's a bank of microprocessors wired into the base of my skull. It's designed to control my bionics. Mostly. Jones, well, he must have thought he could access it, repurpose it."

"And can he do that? I mean, really control you?"

"Honestly, Jaffer…" Sigrid shook her head. "I don't know. I thought I killed him. I
swear
I did. Now I'm not sure of anything."

"Jesus…"

"How can I ever trust myself? I don't want to hurt anyone, Jaffer. I can't."

Jaffer took her chin in his hand, tilting her head up. "Then we'll just have to kill him. He can't control you if he's dead."

"I will. I promise you. But, Jaffer, this is something I have to do on my own. I can't let you risk your life. None of you."

Jaffer's eyebrows raised, and he jutted a thumb back toward his friends. "You think you can stop them from going with you? Try it."

Sigrid stared in the direction he was pointing. Marta, Angel and Tomás were rapt in conversation, overseeing the work being done by their respective crews. It wasn't simple excitement she saw in the truckers, and not the glee of children being presented with a new toy. This was something else. They had a mission. They had a purpose.

"This is going to be
war
, Jaffer. It's going to be real and it's going to get bloody fast. People will die."

"They've
been
to war, sweetheart."

"I know you served with the CTF—"

"That's not the war I'm talking about. Look around you. You've seen this place. You know what the Earth's become. It's a piss hole. It's nothing but a source of cheap labor for the Federation. You want to talk about a real war? That's what happens every day on the roads, fighting and scraping to make a life for yourself. This mission—it's a chance for them to get out from under it. If you think you can talk them out of it, by all means, have at it."

"And what about you? Can I talk you out of it?"

"You can try," Jaffer said with a grin. "But then who's going to take care of Angel? We'll get through this, Sigrid. Together."

~ - ~

Work retrofitting the cargo haulers stretched well into the night, and while even Jaffer and Marta eventually gave in to exhaustion, Sigrid refused to leave until she was satisfied that all the upgrades to the transports were done to her satisfaction. She couldn't sleep anyway. There would be time for sleep later when this was over. When Harry Jones was dead.

When the foreman finally closed and locked the gates, Sigrid was the last to leave. The lot was empty. Her longspur sat waiting for her, parked beneath a bank of yellow floodlights. The rain had finally stopped, and the wind had died down. The night was deathly still. The soft padding of her heels on the tarmac was the only sound to be heard.

But she wasn't alone. Sigrid knew she was being watched.

Her long strides never altered as she approached the waiting longspur
.
She was pulling on her riding gloves when four figures emerged from the darkness. Three were on the rooftops above, armed and tracking her. The fourth stepped forward from the front. Still half in shadow, he stopped a good twenty meters from her.

"It's a little late in the evening for a stroll, don't you think?" Sigrid said.

"I thought it best if we met without the distraction of others," a male voice said. "Much safer for all concerned. Less chance of collateral damage."

The figure stepped forward, coming to stand beside a lamppost, revealing himself in the dull yellow light. He wore a long coat, which he held open, as if to show he wasn't armed.

Sigrid scanned him from head to foot. He wore no ID tags, and nothing about him—facial recognition, body scans, DNA—registered in any of her databases. Whoever he was, he was a ghost. Not an easy thing to achieve in a data-driven age.

"Who
are
you?"

"No one of consequence. Though I do represent a person of some significance."

Sigrid's hands dropped lower to rest on the handles of her sidearms. "You picked the wrong night to play games. I'm in no mood."

The man raised his hands, palms up. "Apologies, Sigrid Novak. I am a courier sent to deliver a message. Nothing more."

"A courier? Well, if you're about to tell me not to shoot the messenger, you may find yourself out of luck."

The man smiled. "I would never presume to instruct
you
in anything."

"Who sent you? The CTF? The Cabal?"

"Unfortunately, that information is not part of the message."

Sigrid's hands tightened on the grips of her pistols. "For someone sent to bring me information, you're doing a terrible job. You're taking an awful risk coming here like this."

"One for which I am being adequately compensated. Would you like to hear the message?"

"I suppose it's either that or kill you. Of course, I can always kill you later."

The courier gave a gracious bow, full from the waist. "That is, of course, your prerogative."

"All right." Sigrid eased her sidearms back into their clips. "Out with it. What's this message?"

"My patron has become aware that you are working for the Consortium."

"Let me guess. You're about to present me with a better offer."

"Far from it. My patron wishes you every success in your endeavors. One day soon this war will end. Warlords like Lars Koenig cannot be allowed to remain in power. Not if the Earth has any hope of recovering."

"Ah. Then this is about eliminating the competition. What's your patron deal in? Drugs? Prostitution? Smuggling? Wait. Let me guess: not part of the message."

The courier gave another tilt of his head.

"I'm already going to kill the marquis," Sigrid said. "Your patron didn't need to send you down here to wish me luck."

"Like the Consortium, my patron wants the marquis dead. In that, their interests are aligned. But as for your other target, Sigrid Novak, my patron has other plans. Your other target
must
survive."

Sigrid's recoillesses were in her hands in a flash, leveled at the courier's nose. To his credit, he didn't flinch a muscle. "What do you know about Jones?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I only know that my patron wants him alive. They would ask that you deliver him personally—unharmed and in good health."