Ghosts of Empire (Book 4 of The Empire of Bones Saga) (27 page)

“You could say that. There’s a coup under way.”

That seemed to make him very happy. She supposed trouble was what folks like him thrived on. “Then you’d best say so up front. The security forces might try to shut us down, so lead with the meat of the story.”

A woman with a tray of makeup rushed up to Olivia. “Let me put this on your cheeks or you’re going to look like a corpse.”

“I think that’s what someone had in mind,” Olivia said with a hint of gallows humor.

Another woman—a producer of some kind—whipped off her blouse without any qualms about showing her undergarments to God and everyone. “You can’t go on air in that! Arms up!”

“We’ll come back with the camera on me,” the anchor said. “I’ll make a brief introduction so the audience is prepped. You’ll know when to start speaking. Just look into the camera and pretend it’s a person.”

In an astonishingly brief period of time, they had her face made up and her top changed. The producer was brushing Olivia’s hair when someone off set started counting down.

“Live in three…two…” the man beside the camera held up a single finger as the producer dove behind the desk.

“Welcome back to Channel Seven,” the anchor said gravely. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce a very unexpected, yet most welcome, special guest in studio, Coordinator Olivia West. Coordinator, I’m sure that our viewers are all greatly relieved to see you alive and well. Please tell us what’s really going on.”

Olivia smiled into the camera like a wolf, imagining that she was staring right at Abigail. “Thank you, Jackson. And an even bigger thanks to Lord Edward Calder for providing this forum for me.”

She took a deep breath and launched into her explanation. “People of Harrison’s World, it saddens me to inform you that Abigail King, formerly Deputy Coordinator of our world, is attempting to stage a coup. The vid you’ve all seen is a lie. That pinnace didn’t belong to Fleet, but to rebels intent on overthrowing the rightful rule of law. Perhaps even the Imperial lords themselves.”

That last was untrue, but the rules of politics were crystal clear. Admit nothing, deny everything, and make counter-accusations. Let Abigail be the one on the defensive.

“Now, let me explain very quickly what really happened. We don’t have long before the rebels kill this transmission, so let’s make our time together count.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sean came limping into the safe house just as the big news broadcast came on. The marines leapt into action, getting his broken arm set and putting some ice on his knee. The medic thought it was only a bad bruise.

The coordinator only got about ten minutes into her speech before the channel went off the air with a nondescript “technical difficulties” banner. For some reason, he didn’t think many people were going to believe that. In the end, it hardly mattered. She’d said more than enough to get people thinking.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I expected our escape to be the big news of the day, but with all this going on, the security forces won’t even be looking for us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sir,” the medic said as he finished wrapping Sean’s knee. “Someone is going to care about what we’re doing. Maybe only the capital security forces, but still.”

“This kind of thing spawns riots. The people that feel suppressed in society will be taking the opportunity to even the score. Which opens us up to random danger, but clouds our activities from view. We need to get some eyes on the target building. I don’t want our little songbird to escape before we can find out what he knows.”

The medic didn’t look pleased. “You really need to stay off that knee, sir. If you abuse it, we’ll be carrying you.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” he joked.

The nonplussed marine only sighed.

“I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime, Sergeant. I don’t need to lead the charge to secure the prisoner. I’ll be happy to wait with the getaway driver. But, it’s getting dark and the crowds won’t wait long to begin roaming the streets.”

He outlined the general plan for them. They had three vehicles, including a grav van. That was for securing any prisoners. The other two air cars would deliver troops onto the roof where the guards had brought Sean into the building. Hopefully, the camp commander would be in the same suite of offices he’d occupied earlier. If not, perhaps someone there would know something worthwhile. That was the only place he knew to look for answers.

They mounted up and headed into the city at a sedate pace. His predictions proved accurate. Once they made it into the business district, there were small groups of people roving around and a few agitators were already whipping them into a frenzy. It wouldn’t be long before they started setting fires and looting.

The security forces were getting ready. He saw a couple of checkpoints—complete with officers in riot gear—going up and came up with a new scouting plan. They moved all the weapons out of the first air car and relocated all but two of the men from it to the van. It led the way.

This approach proved wise when it ran into a surprise checkpoint. The rest of them took a side street and avoided some very uncomfortable questions. The security forces gave his men a hard time, but let them through when the mob put in an appearance up the street.

They all made it to the target building without any further problems. A convenience store provided a place to park while they swapped out people and weapons. The owners were securing sheets of hard plastic across the windows, no doubt anticipating looting.

The occupants of the building had the target floor brightly lit, so Sean expected someone to be there. Probably trying to figure out where all the prisoners had disappeared to.

He decided to keep the van in the parking lot after having a word with the suspicious owner of the shop. Some local currency got them drinks and prepackaged food in case they couldn’t get back to the house. A shotgun and a few boxes of ammo made the man a friend for life.

Once everything was in readiness, the two air cars went up to the roof. Without communications—other than local coms—he couldn’t follow along with the raid. He was just glad none of the windows blew out in an explosion. That would draw the security forces, even with riots taking place.

His com signaled. “Yes?”

“We have takeout. You want to come to the door?”

“Be right there.” He hung up and slapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go.”

The van took off and landed on the roof. His team hustled three men and a woman out to meet them. They’d rigged up some makeshift restraints ahead of time, so these folks were not a serious threat. The two men in back with Sean could keep them under control.

The marines dumped them into the van and took off for their air cars. This time they’d be taking more of a chance getting back to the house. The lead air car would have a full load of passengers, though no weapons.

Sean smiled when he saw the bastard who’d given him so much trouble. “Well, well. Things are looking up. I’m actually pleased to see you.”

“You can go screw yourself,” the man snarled.

“While that might be entertaining, I’d rather get a little information from you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’m hoping you go for hard, honestly.”

The man spit at Sean, but missed.

Sean smashed his good fist into the man’s face. It hurt, but not as bad as his broken arm. Blood streamed from the man’s nose as he bellowed in pain.

“I’m an officer,” Sean said as he shook his hand, “but I’m not inclined to be a gentleman. Admiral Mertz would disapprove of my methods, I suspect, but I find they hold a particular charm. You took a hundred of my people. You can tell me where they are or I’ll cheerfully break you in half. If I get tired, one of these hulking young marines can spell me. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather tell me what I want to know?”

The prisoner’s answer was profane and to the point.

“This is going to be a long night,” he told the driver. “I’m glad we picked up snacks. We’re going to need the energy.”

* * * * *

Olivia wasn’t surprised when the power went out only ten minutes into her address. Honestly, she’d expected only half that time. She’d already made her final plea for the people to spread the word and resist the unlawful regime. If Abigail hadn’t cut her off, Olivia would’ve been in the awkward position of having to pass things back to the anchorman. This way was much more dramatic.

Emergency lights came on all over the studio when the overheads went out. Jackson Zapata stood. “Well, that’s it for tonight, Coordinator. We need to get you out of the building before the security forces close in. I hope you have a speedy ride waiting for you.”

“I have that in spades. Thank you for making this as straightforward as possible.”

He smiled and extended his hand. “It was an honor and a pleasure. Not to mention a huge boost for the station’s ratings, I’m sure. Maybe I should ask Lord Calder for a raise.”

“I’d hold off on that for a while, if I were you. In fact, you might want to come with us.”

He smiled slowly. “That’s a
wonderful
idea and I’ll gratefully accept your generous offer. We could do a documentary style show of your fight against the tyrant and usurper. Charlotte! Get a camera crew ready to go! We’re following the coordinator!”

The woman in the bra started shouting for people by name and ordering them to do things. Olivia decided that if the apocalypse ever came, she wanted that woman organizing the last stand against the zombies.

“What’s the best way to get out of here?” she asked as she peeled out of the woman’s blouse. She’d stand out less in the one she’d worn earlier. “I have men and vehicles outside.”

“The tunnels,” he said promptly, taking his producer’s blouse from Olivia and tossing it to her as she trotted by. “They crisscross under the district. One leads to our satellite office a few blocks away. Your people can meet us there and not risk running into security forces.”

Olivia slipped her blouse on and buttoned it quickly. The door leading to the control room opened and her people came out at a run. One of them hurried up to her.

“The security feed is on backup power. There’s no sign of trouble yet, but we need to get you out of here.”

“I’m already working on that. What’s the address for this other office?” she asked Zapata.

He gave it to her man. “Have them go into the parking garage, top level. The employee code is 1234.”

“You know that isn’t secure,” her man said, obviously offended by the broadcast company’s lapse in security consciousness.

“Take it up with management,” Zapata said. “Coordinator, we can head down to the tunnel through the stairwell behind the studio. Someone will tell the security forces about it, I’m sure, but they won’t have time to block you from leaving or follow you, for that matter. Especially if they think you went somewhere else.”

He raised his voice. “Your car can land on the roof, Coordinator. Allow me to take you up there myself.”

She smiled. “You’re clever. I like that in a man.”

“You’re making me blush,” he said with no sign of any such redness. “We should make our exit now.”

He led them to the stairwell and started down, but the security team insisted on going out front. The trip to the basement was noisy and quick. Deep underground, machinery sat in the darkness. The emergency lights were few and far between.

The ever-resourceful Charlotte produced hand-held lights from a maintenance locker. Zapata led them through a side corridor and into a tunnel.

“Do you know where everything is?” she asked Charlotte.

The woman nodded seriously. “Yes.”

Olivia smiled. “You may just be the most competent person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.”

The tunnel was dark, but clean and clear of debris. They made excellent time to the destination building and quickly went up the stairs to the parking level.

The building still had power. Her vehicles stood in a line, ready to go. Behind them, a grav van with a fold-down satellite transceiver and the Channel 7 logo was pulling up. The cameramen and staff that had followed the producer swarmed it.

Olivia gestured for one of her people to go with them. “In case we get separated, make sure they get to the rally point. I’m beginning to think a record of what we’re doing here might be very useful.”

She turned to Jackson Zapata. “I’m not going to tell you where we’re going, just in case you get picked up. Thanks again for all your help.”

The handsome man grinned. “I haven’t had this much excitement in years. I just hope that everything works out without too much violence.”

He said the last with a note of solemnity. She wondered if he practiced the expression in the mirror. Probably, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t genuine.

Olivia made her way to the getaway car. The air car couldn’t have been as fast as the vehicle Abigail had destroyed, but if there was a problem, it might be able to outrun it.

She climbed in. “Ready? Let’s get out of here before the world comes down on our heads.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He brought the vehicle to a hover and took them out of the building with the others following behind.

They took the side roads out, but she still saw a several security vehicles speeding toward the broadcast building. She didn’t breathe easily until they were away from the whole area.

* * * * *

“Am I surrounded by incompetents?” Abigail screamed at her assistant. “This is unbelievable! Can anyone do anything right? Anything at all?”

The man was in on almost every aspect of the plan, so she wasn’t giving anything away by ranting at him in her soundproofed office. Part of her knew that it wasn’t his fault. None of this was his doing, but she didn’t care. How could they have missed killing Olivia? The one thing they absolutely had to do. This was all going to come apart.

“Deputy Coordinator, I understand you’re angry, but if you insist on ranting, Coordinator West is going to rally people around her. You need to find her and stop her right now if you intend to avoid hanging.”