Remote Control (3 page)

No, wait.
The blood was on the floor of Crexe’s cell, not hers. So the attacker was still alive, and still bleeding when they drilled a new hole, climbed down into Crexe’s cell, and grabbed him.

It was even possible that they’d placed the woman’s body on top of the blood puddle so it appeared to be her blood and was never examined more closely.

Once they had Crexe, someone up above must have lowered the rope. They grabbed it and were lifted out, explosives were set (some kind of powerful directional bombs, Six thought, though not claymores, because there would be ball bearings on the floor), and they drove away.

This explains how they did it so quickly
, Six thought. The explosion happened after the rescue, not before. And there were probably at least four perpetrators: two to break in (one to drill and one to shoot), one to lift the intruders and Crexe out, and one to drive the car. There may have been an extra person to set up the explosives, but one of the others could have done it without too much trouble—probably the driller.

The important thing is
, Six thought, looking at the body on the floor,
that this blood belongs to one of the attackers. It can be traced.

Six scraped some of the stained crimson dust into a small plastic case and left the cell block.

Door 81-B slid closed behind him.

Six knocked on the door of Kyntak’s office.

“Go away, I’m busy,” came a voice from inside.

Six pushed open the door. Kyntak had his feet up on his desk and was throwing peanuts into the wastepaper basket.

“You don’t look busy,” said Six.

“No,” Kyntak admitted, “but an initial warning is usually enough to get rid of people who want to harass me with trivialities.”

“Having an office has gone to your head,” Six observed. He kicked a crumpled potato-chip packet away from his foot, and it rejoined the others in a corner. The clock on the wall said 9:15:00.

“That sounds like insubordination to me, Agent Six of Hearts,” Kyntak warned. “State your business or get out of here.”

“You heard about Methryn Crexe.”

“Yeah—I thought you were taking care of it. Need a hand?”

“I’ve given a blood sample of one of the intruders to Ace of Diamonds; she’s going to analyze it and pass it over to King of Diamonds, who’ll compare it to those in the ChaoSonic database
and get the address of the suspect. When we have that, King of Hearts’ll send in a team—and I’ll be doing recon.” He paused. “But there are too many variables for my peace of mind—I’d appreciate you watching my back.”

Kyntak smiled. “Only if you’ll watch mine.”

“Deal,” Six said. “I’ll let you know when we have the address.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” said Kyntak.

“Sorry,” Jack said as he zipped up the back of Six’s combat suit, “but I won’t have much time to chat with you today.”

“That’s a shame,” Six replied flatly.

Jack was probably the most talkative person he knew—he seemed to be able to ramble for hours without caring if his victim was listening. Six tried not to be too rude to him; Jack had suffered more of his blunt coldness than anyone else at the Deck. But Six didn’t know how to apologize for years of poor social skills. So he just tried his best to keep his mouth shut. And Jack seemed capable of handling the conversation on his own.

“I’ve got seven other agents to suit up, you see,” Jack continued, picking up equipment from a nearby table. “Busy busy busy. Lucky none of you need makeovers or I’d be here all day. And time’s a factor, as I understand it. Is it true that someone managed to break out of one of the cells? I always thought it couldn’t be done!”

“So did I,” Six growled. “They had outside help. Lots of it.”

“Well, if anyone can bring in the culprits, it’s you. Good luck, Six. Here’s your radio earpiece, your PDA, Owl 5525, and your ski mask.”

Six clipped the radio and the gun onto his belt and pulled the ski mask over his head.

“Oh, and the grenades,” Jack added, picking them up from his desk. “They’re OT-78s, so they explode on impact after the pin is pulled rather than on a timer. Don’t rely on rebound, don’t squeeze them too hard, and don’t drop them once they’re armed.”

Six pocketed the four grenades.

“Ready?” Jack asked.

Six nodded. And left without a word.

“The blood recovered from the cell belonged to a man named Vidar Dehayt,” King said to the eight agents standing before him. “Our only information on him comes from his confidential ChaoSonic file. He worked in security for the Lab last year. And you all know what that means.”

They did. King was telling them that this may have something to do with the history of Six, or Kyntak. Tread carefully.

“By necessity, this is a top secret case,” King said. “Need to know, classified, etcetera. So you report to no one but the following people: me, Queen, Six, or Kyntak. Except in the event of an emergency, you are not to share details of this case with anyone outside the Hearts department, and if you’ll take my advice, you won’t discuss them with one another either. If you need assistance from another suit, contact me or Queen first. Clear?”

“
Yes, sir!”
the agents said in unison.

“Good. According to the ChaoSonic database, Dehayt lives in a semi-abandoned apartment block about thirty klicks west of here. The method used to rescue Crexe suggests that he is dangerous and will be armed. While your first mission priority is to
recapture Methryn Crexe before he does any harm, it’s probable that he won’t be on-site. So it’s also important to bring Dehayt in. We need him alive to find out what’s going on.

“Each floor will be searched by Six and Kyntak first. If the floor is clear, they’ll call the rest of you up. If not, they’ll come back down with a recon report. You can then use their info and the maps in your PDAs to make a game plan and move in. Standard protocol applies—if shots are fired, move in immediately.

“We’re running blind in this case. We don’t know who arranged for the rescue of Crexe, or what he plans to do on the outside. You’re all highly skilled agents, but this mission is an intelligence nightmare. So until Crexe and Dehayt are arrested, don’t let your guard down. Any questions?”

There were none.

“All right,” King said. “Good luck. Let’s load up the trucks.”

Agent Six rode in the vehicle with Kyntak, Two, and Nine. Agent Two was driving. The grimy, crumbling City rolled past the windows of the cabin and the omnipresent fog leaked in through the floor.

Pedestrians had started wearing gas masks and goggles—not so much for their safety, Six knew, but as part of a new fashion trend. He’d seen women wearing various types of masks on the covers of several magazines lately, and that was usually a good indicator of what would become fashionable in the next few weeks.

“So,” Two said. “What’s our current theory?”

“I think that Methryn Crexe has been pulled back into operation by ChaoSonic,” Kyntak said. “They don’t really know a lot about what happened at the Lab. They never got a chance to debrief Crexe before we shuffled him. Retuni Lerke was the one who knew the most about the experiments they’d been doing, but they never found him and neither did we. So if they really wanted information about Project Falcon, how else could they get it besides freeing Crexe?”

Six shivered. He’d been hoping that ChaoSonic had dismissed Project Falcon as a failure. If that wasn’t the case, he and Kyntak could be in even greater danger than he’d imagined.

“But if ChaoSonic has worked out where the Deck is, why haven’t they attacked it?” Nine said. “There are heaps of shuffled ChaoSonic operatives in the cells. Why rescue Crexe and none of the others?”

“And why use a low-life, ex-Lab security guard to do it?” Two added.

The truck screeched to a halt as a black sedan roared past in front of it. The blaring of horns followed it into the grey void, and the truck rumbled forward again. Two barely blinked. Traffic was rough everywhere in the City. To a trained Deck agent, a few sudden stops and swerves were nothing. Despite the crisis Six could feel building around him, he was touched by a hint of satisfaction as he watched Two drive. He wasn’t close to any of the other team members, and maybe he would always feel isolated, but they were well trained and reliable, like a parachute that he could feel on his back no matter how fast he was falling.

“What if it’s a diversion?” Nine said suddenly. “We’ve got our eight best agents on this mission, including you two!” He gestured at Six and Kyntak. “If there was a perfect time to attack the Deck, wouldn’t it be now?”

Six snapped back to reality and held his radio up to his mouth.

“This is Six of Hearts. Come in, King.”

“Copy that, Six, this is King. What’s up?”

“It’s been suggested that the rescue operation was staged to draw us away, leaving the Deck undefended. I’m just checking that you’ve implemented all security measures. Over.”

“We’re walled in tight
,” Six’s radio crackled.
“The Spades and Clubs aren’t on-site, obviously, but Queen, Jack, all the Diamonds, and I are sealed in the Audiovisual Surveillance room. Ace, Three, and
Seven are patrolling outside. We’re keeping our eyes on the screens, and everything seems okay. Over.”

“I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this,” said Six.

“At least you have feelings,” Kyntak said. “That’s an improvement.”

“We can take care of ourselves, Six. Keep us posted.”

“Copy that.” Six clipped the radio back onto his belt. “I doubt ChaoSonic has found the Deck—we’d know by now if they had. Any other theories?”

“Debtors?” Nine suggested. “Maybe Crexe owed someone.”

“Friends or relatives who wanted him back, maybe,” Two said with a shrug. “Not everything is motivated by money.”

The apartment block had come into view—a blackened slab of concrete, crumbling at the joints, rising into the fog. The charred walls were peppered with windows, mostly grimy, broken, or boarded up. Six couldn’t see any doors.

Moments later he discovered why. The cabin of the truck sank forward until it was rolling down a concrete ramp into a parking lot underneath the building. There was no door, no boom gate, no security of any kind. A scattering of cheap neon bulbs on the low ceiling struggled to pierce the fog which poured down the ramp. The silence was smothering, as if the place had been empty for years and every last echo of life had faded to nothing.

Agent Two parked the truck in one of the bays. Six watched through the window as the second truck parked beside it.

“This is Agent Five; we are good to go.”

Two glanced at Nine, who nodded. “This is Agent Two,” he said. “We’re ready.”

Kyntak looked at Six. As the reconnaissance part of the team, they would be separated from the rest of the group. Their independent confirmation was needed before dealing.

Six held Kyntak’s gaze nervously. He was still uneasy. They didn’t have sufficient information to do this mission. They didn’t know what the risks were.

But what choice did they have? Methryn Crexe was on the loose. He was being used for something by someone—someone with the resources and motivation to break in to a high-security cell block to get him out.

This is our only lead
, Six thought.
So this is our only choice.

He nodded to Kyntak.

“This is Kyntak,” Kyntak said cheerfully into the radio. “Six and I are ready to deal.” He grinned at Six. “Let’s get this party started.”

Six looked at his watch. It was 11:52:50.

The doors to both trucks opened simultaneously. The agents swarmed out, guns at the ready, their rubber-soled shoes carrying them across the filthy parking lot floor without so much as a scuffle.

Six was to take the north stairwell; Kyntak, the west. The rest of the team was to wait by the south stairwell, ready to move up to the first floor when Six and Kyntak gave them the all-clear, or when they were needed as backup. Six was glad King had given those instructions. The Hearts agents were tough, but he and Kyntak were tougher, and he didn’t want to put anyone in unnecessary danger.

Before peeling off towards the west stairs, Kyntak clapped Six lightly on the back. “Good luck.”

Six nodded and ran for the north stairs. Behind him, the other agents melted into the shadows, splitting off towards darkened corners of the parking lot.

Six read the grease-stained sign on the door through the flickering neon light.
FIRE DOOR
—
DO NOT PREVENT CLOSING
. He eased it open gently.

The hinges didn’t creak as much as scrape—years of rust being scratched away as the door moved. Six peered through the gap. There was no movement on the other side.

He pushed the door the rest of the way open very quickly to minimize the noise. The stairwell was tiled in white, but was stained grey, yellow, and brown at the corners. The steps were dark aluminum and nearly as rusted as the door. There was a lightbulb above his head, but it was off, and there was no apparent switch.

The chamber was empty. Given the state of this stairwell and the door he had entered through, Six guessed that no one had been in this part of the building for years. He eased the door shut behind him.

He peered up the stairs, gun in hand. No movement.

Six climbed the steps two at a time. He felt slight vibrations under his feet and sensed that if he didn’t tread gently enough, every step would boom through the stairwell. He kept his feet close to the wall, where the stairs were structurally strongest and where his footfalls would make the least noise. The longer he and the other agents remained undetected, the better their chances of success. He didn’t want Dehayt, Crexe, and whoever else lay hidden in this building to have time to prepare a counterattack.

The first landing was empty. Six saw nothing unusual above, just a tunnel of darkness between the rusted flights of stairs.

He heard a deep, quiet groan, a shifting metallic ache as one might hear on the inside of a submarine.

The noise faded away into the darkness. Six held still for a moment longer, but no other sounds followed.

This is a very old building
, he thought. A noise like that could be made by weather conditions outside, causing the structure to shift slightly, or by someone moving somewhere within its walls.

But Six had no way of knowing whether that someone might be his friend or foe.

“Are you on the first floor yet, Six?”
crackled Kyntak through the earpiece.

“Just reached the landing,” Six whispered. “Why?”

“I’ve found signs of a struggle. A recent one. Tables overturned and cartridges on the floor, but no dust settled on them yet. And no bodies. There’s a pile of cheap mobile phones in one of the rooms.”

Six frowned. “How many?” he asked.

“Eleven,”
Kyntak said.
“Any ideas?”

“Just a second.” Six changed frequencies. “King, do you copy?”

“I read you, Six. What’s happening?”

“Kyntak’s found a pile of phones. How many other drifters were living in this building that we know of, besides Vidar Dehayt?”

“Ten or eleven. How many phones?”

“Yeah, it matches.” Six balled his hands into fists. “Someone didn’t want to be seen, so they disposed of all the previous occupants.”

All mobile phones broadcast a passive signal, traceable within a few meters. Professional attack teams always left the phones of their victims behind so no one could use that signal to find the bodies. A pile of phones probably meant that all the residents of the building were dead.

He switched frequencies again. “Kyntak, be careful.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
Kyntak’s cheer sounded slightly forced.
“Let me know if you find anything. Over and out.”

The door to the first floor was immediately in front of him, but Six was distracted by a silver box bolted to the wall. It was about the size of an ice-cream container, with a small antenna out
to the side, and a few control dials on the front. It had caught Six’s eye because it looked newer than the rest of the building; the omnipresent grime and dust had yet to settle on its gleaming surface.

Six touched the chrome hinges thoughtfully. It looked like a signal relay—the ground-based equivalent of a communications satellite. Data from a mobile phone could be sent via a relay instead of a tower, provided the sender and recipient were within its operational radius. The advantage was that the signal couldn’t be intercepted except by someone within that radius. Relays were often installed at secret bases of operations.

But this building doesn’t look like someone’s base
, Six thought.
It looks abandoned. So who installed the relay, and why?

He turned back to the door. After they had scoured the building for other clues, he would examine the box more thoroughly. If need be, he could take it back to the Deck for analysis. But right now, he had other things to do.

He hefted his pistol and eased the stairwell door open a crack. He listened. Nothing.

He swung it all the way open. The corridor was empty—the grinding of the door hinges echoed and bounced away into the distance. The wind blew through shattered windows.

There were more neon bulbs on the ceiling, but none appeared to have power. Broken glass crunched underneath Six’s shoes.

There were entrances to apartments on his right. Most had no doors, just empty door frames with half-attached hinges. Six peered into each room as he crept past, but saw only broken furniture and dirt. He suspected the building was used as a squat by homeless people.

The economics of the City were fragile. ChaoSonic needed to sell goods and services to the public to keep making money. But
because the giant corporation owned almost everything, its only customers were its own employees. No one else had any funds. Six had heard it called the CFC, or cash flow cycle. ChaoSonic officials paid their employees, who paid
their
employees, and so on. Money filtered down through the ranks of the company until everyone with a ChaoSonic job had some. Then they all bought ChaoSonic meals and ChaoSonic clothes. They paid the rent on their ChaoSonic apartments and put ChaoSonic fuel in their ChaoSonic cars. The money all found its way back to ChaoSonic officials.

But like all companies, ChaoSonic demanded growth and profit. To save money, it replaced its workers with software, machines, and even slaves. To survive, the suddenly penniless former employees now had to steal ChaoSonic goods instead of buying them. This decreased ChaoSonic revenue, leading to more job losses.

Six didn’t know if there was a name for that cycle. But he knew where the jobless people ended up. They could be found all over the City, living in rags, sleeping on concrete.

Six could see an empty paint can in one of the rooms, scorch marks on the floor under it. Someone had obviously tried to make a hot meal.

The shredded mattress and sticks of firewood could have been undisturbed for weeks or years. The only sign of recent occupation was the lack of current occupation. Places like this never stayed empty for long.

Kyntak rounded the corner ahead of Six. “Nothing,” he said.

Six nodded. “This way too. Call up the agents.”

Kyntak tapped his earpiece. “This is Kyntak. The first floor is clear. Move up—we’re going to the second.”

“Copy that
,
”
Two said in Six’s ear.

Kyntak headed back towards the west stairwell. “See you in a minute.” The fog swallowed him up.

Six turned back to the north.

The stairwell didn’t get any cleaner with altitude. Six hoped that the steps were still capable of supporting his weight.

The second landing was in a similar state of disrepair to the first. If this floor yielded no evidence of Methryn Crexe or Vidar Dehayt, they would have to check the roof and then leave.

Six was getting worried. The blood of Vidar Dehayt on the floor of Methryn Crexe’s cell was their only lead in this case—and beyond searching Dehayt’s last known place of residence for clues, there wasn’t much they could do.

Did Crexe or Dehayt know they would be coming? Six wondered. Was murdering the neighbors of accomplices just a precaution because they knew Dehayt’s blood had been left behind at the crime scene? Or was it standard operating procedure for these people, whoever they were?