Read Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 Online
Authors: EJ Fisch
“Got it.” Aroska remained in his place for another couple of minutes, watching for variations in the movements of the two visible sentries. Seeing none, he crossed back over to the stairs and made his way down into the alley, slinking along the exterior wall of the building until he reached the front. He paused in the shadows and swept his gaze back and forth, looking for any new details the lower vantage point presented. He’d be totally exposed as he crossed the street, and he sincerely hoped all the Durutians were in the compound and that he and Skeet hadn’t missed something. He pictured himself being picked off by a sniper hidden on one of the nearby rooftops, or if not picked off, at least spotted. To his relief, he made it across unscathed. It didn’t guarantee he was in the clear, but it was a start.
With only two buildings between him and the outer edge of the apartment complex, Aroska moved more carefully than ever. He shifted his attention between what was ahead of him and what was below him, watching for security devices, traps, and anything that might make excess noise if stepped on. There were no unusual sounds or smells, though various noises could still be heard in the direction of the busier part of town near the spaceport. Usually he was glad to have such exceptional senses, as it allowed him to move undetected while
he
detected the enemy. But the Durutians were no ordinary enemy – with their cybernetics, they had just as good a chance of hearing him as he did of hearing them.
Another minute of creeping brought him within sight of Building Two. He crouched down behind the cooling unit of the nearest house, watching for movement with bated breath. All of the building’s apartments were dark except the one in the center, and based on the bluish-green hue of the light pouring from the window, whatever illuminated the space was electronic. He wound up the muscles in his legs, ready to close the distance between himself and the window, but the sound of shuffling feet stopped him dead in his tracks.
Aroska’s hand settled on his holster, but he refrained from drawing his weapon just yet. The sound had come from his right, further down the alley and away from the compound. He rose and moved across to the adjacent house, risking a peek around the corner. The fact that the area was clear brought him little comfort.
Preoccupied by the unexplained noises, it took him a moment to catch the whiff of body odor – likely human – somewhere behind him. The sound of hurried footsteps and the hum of a stun baton reached his ears just as he drew his pistol and began to turn.
“You’ll want to drop that,” a female voice said as something was jabbed into the small of his back.
Aroska straightened and started to whirl, but a sudden electric current shot through his body, turning his legs to liquid. He collapsed to his knees with a groan and held up his hands, watching as two armed men appeared from the direction of the noise he’d originally heard. One of them relieved him of the pistol while the other searched him for further weapons.
“We’ve got one of them,” said the woman behind him as she reached around and tore out his earpiece, keeping the stun baton pressed into his back as she did so. “The hotel room is empty. The other one is around here somewhere.”
She hit him with the baton once again and he fell forward onto his stomach, his nerves on fire. The two men in front of him were hardly more than shadows as they reached down, picked him up by the arms, and began to drag him toward the apartment complex. The soft silver glow of their eyes seemed to linger in his vision even as his mind began to go blank.
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know. They’re not talking.”
The whole compound had come alive the moment the Haphezian spies had been apprehended. They’d been spotted leaving their hotel by one of the locals Taran had commissioned as an informant, and thus he had ordered the formation of two extra three-man teams to covertly patrol the perimeter of the complex. Both Haphezian agents had gotten closer than he had anticipated, but in the end numbers had not been on their side.
He’d had every intention of killing them outright if they ever came near the apartments, but he’d ordered that they be taken alive when it became apparent they were only performing reconnaissance. He was already running low on patience and doubted either of the men would talk, but the prospect of potentially gaining some new intel on Ronan had left him feeling merciful…at least temporarily.
“Did you hear back from your squad at the hotel?”
Mae nodded. “These guys are HSP – that’s all we know. All that comm equipment they brought was present in the room, but it was powered down and the call logs were all empty. Chances are they erased them before they left tonight. They were in possession of data regarding Ronan, but it’s all encrypted. It might take a couple of days to break into it.”
Taran sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had, by some miracle, actually been asleep when they’d received news of the Haphezians’ movements. Mae stood as alert and ready as ever with her red curls bundled into a thick ponytail that cascaded down her back. She’d personally been responsible for the capture of one of the agents, the tall yellow one. He’d been ready to put up a fight but was luckily no match for a good old fashioned stun baton. The big orange one had managed to take a swing but had still gone down after a couple of hits from a baton. In all honesty, Taran was glad. Both men were at least a head taller than any of his soldiers and could no doubt best all of them in hand-to-hand combat. They were being kept in separate apartments at the moment, thoroughly restrained and neutralized by a chemical that paralyzed their limbs but left them awake and coherent.
“I want to see them,” he sighed. “Let’s have them moved into the same room.”
Mae shrugged and led him to the door, relaying orders to the current guards via comm. They crossed the courtyard, which was now fully illuminated and bustling with nervous members of their squad, and came to a stop in front of Building Three. The door to one of the units opened and two of their men appeared, dragging Yellow along with his legs scraping on the ground behind him. Taran followed them into the room and watched as they seated him in a fresh chair beside his partner.
Both men were slumped awkwardly in their seats, unable to support themselves with their arms or legs, but they watched him with intent stares as he took up a stance in front of them and crossed his arms. Orange had a split lip thanks to the brief struggle he’d put up before falling captive, but his hardened features told Taran he barely noticed it. The man’s fiery hair stuck out in all directions, and he had at least four piercings in each ear plus another in one nostril. He certainly didn’t
look
like an operative, but the cold focus in his eyes told Taran this was not the first time he’d been captured and interrogated…and that he was indifferent about it.
He shifted his attention to Yellow. This man also demonstrated a cool collectedness that could only be a product of thorough training. But rather than stare straight ahead, he put his eyes to work, taking in every detail of every face and object in the room. This was a man who could take one look at his environment and remember everything he’d seen. Both of these agents were operatives – Taran could tell that much just by looking at them – but they were very different types. If his theory was correct about them being in league with the Resistance, he wondered what Ronan had hoped to accomplish by sending them here.
He considered kneeling but decided he’d rather not have them looking down on him. “I don’t suppose either of you wants to just tell me who you are and who you’re working for.”
As expected, there was no response. Both men were watching him now, and unless he was mistaken, they almost looked amused that he would even say such a thing. In all reality, there wasn’t much point in questioning them. These were people who would readily choose death over betraying their comrades, so part of him considered just executing them now and saving himself some time. Even if they did end up giving him useful information, he still had every intention of killing them outright. How had he put it?
Let their people lose contact with them the same way we’ve lost contact with Devani.
“They’re cowards, Taran,” Mae said behind him. Her tone told him the words were directed more toward the Haphezians than him.
Once again, neither man had any visible reaction to the jab, but Taran couldn’t help but notice the way Yellow’s attention had shifted to Mae when she’d spoken. He watched her through slightly narrowed eyes, no doubt unhappy that she’d managed to best him in the alley.
“
Shouka
,” he muttered.
It took a second for the translator in Taran’s cochlear implant to do its work, and when it did, he was unable to stop himself from stepping forward and laying a hard left hook across the man’s jaw. “Bastard!” he shouted, their faces centimeters apart. “Who do you work for?”
Mae’s hands closed around his arms in an instant, pulling him to the door. “That’s not going to help,” she said, her voice firm. One of the soldiers stepped aside and opened the door, and the two of them stumbled out into the courtyard.
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry.” Taran crouched down, biting his lower lip to keep from shouting, and stared into the dirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, “but they have Devani. We have to stop them. We have to stop
Ronan
.”
“I know we do,” Mae said, squatting down in front of him and touching her forehead to his. She placed her hands on either side of his head and tilted it upward, forcing him to look her in the eye. “But like you said, if these men can’t lead us to Ronan, someone else will. Maybe it’s time to start fresh."
The anger welling up inside him finally began to overtake the weariness and fear. Taran stood up, staring at the apartment door for a moment before turning his attention to the sky and the air around him. A warm wind blew across the desert from the east; there was an ominous quality about it, and his implants told him the air pressure had increased. A storm was coming.
Let their people lose contact with them.
“What’s the weather forecast for today?” he asked, lost in thought.
Mae consulted her wrist-mounted data unit. “Satellites are tracking the formation of a sandstorm about two hundred klicks out,” she announced, eyebrows furrowed. “Based on predicted wind currents, it’s supposed to shift this way. It’s expected to reach the city by zero seven hundred.”
Taran gave her a terse nod of approval and checked the time. Beckoning for her to follow, he went back to the apartment door and moved inside, pleased by the sight of the split skin and trickle of blood his metal arm had left on Yellow’s cheek. “Give them two more hours,” he said, glancing to each of his men in turn before focusing on the Haphezians. “If they haven’t given us anything by then, take them out to the desert and execute them. The sand will bury their bodies – there’s no sense in making a mess here.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw flickers of fear flash through the agents’ eyes. They had every right to be afraid. Even if they weren’t sedated, they were still alone and outnumbered; trying to fight back would be futile and would only expedite their deaths. They had no way to call for help, and even if they did, it wouldn’t get there in time.
Taran turned, satisfied by their reactions, and faced Mae. She said nothing, but the look on her face told him she was glad he’d decided to take action. “You’re right. Maybe we just need to start fresh.” Setting a timer on his wrist unit, he gave the Haphezian agents one more once-over before striding from the room. “Your time starts now.”
It was the wee hours of the morning by the time the
Zenith
touched down in Zylka. Ziva opted to avoid the spaceport entirely and brought the little ship to rest on the landing pad behind the team’s apartment. There didn’t seem to be any sign of the
Intrepid
. Part of her worried that Skeet and Aroska hadn’t come here after all, in which case she had no idea where they were. Or maybe they were just out on a scouting run like the ones Tobias had mentioned.
The apartment was dark when she entered, and as the lighting panels slowly powered up she was surprised to find everything exactly as they’d left it the last time they’d been there. A fine layer of dust had settled over the furniture, as was the norm when no one had set foot in the place for several months.
Ziva sighed and returned to the ship to gather some things before settling in. The sky was just starting to turn gray on the horizon – it would be dawn in less than an hour. At its high latitude, Zylka only saw between five and six hours of darkness at this time of year, and with no mountains or forests to block out the sun, the scorching days seemed extra long. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what the climate was like closer to the equator.
The force field above her was invisible in the darkness, but it was always there, activated even when the sun’s rays weren’t beating down on the city. Passing through it to enter the city reminded her of entering a planet’s atmosphere, but on a smaller scale. Any space-worthy ships with proper heat shielding could come through unscathed, but smaller vessels were forced to use one of several portals on the outskirts of town.
Ziva picked up her backpack – the credits still sat heavy in the bottom of it – and filled it with a variety of weaponry almost identical to the stash she’d left in her locker on Niio. Feeling almost giddy, she opened one of the other storage containers and removed the long case that housed her favorite projectile rifle. It sat disassembled at the moment, encased in protective gel. She’d had it custom-designed close to three years earlier; it included various parts she could mix and match, enabling her to switch back and forth between common projectiles and her signature superheated bariine rounds. This was the first time she’d had this particular gun in the field since…well, since before Dakiti, and the idea of getting to wield her baby again after dealing with that
sheyssen
Korberos rifle she’d acquired on Chaiavis was refreshing. She ran her fingers over the stock and down the barrel, then drew in a sharp breath and paused.
This was the gun she’d killed Soren Tarbic with.
A quiet growl escaped her throat and she slammed the case shut. There was work to be done. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and the rifle case over the other and exited the ship once more, ensuring it was properly secured. Rather than take the stairs up to the apartment, she moved instead toward the garage door below. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the groundcar the team had invested in during their last service term was still there. They’d lost the last one to thieves, one of the drawbacks of having to leave the apartment unattended for the majority of the year. She placed the rifle and backpack in the car’s cargo space and found their collection of goggles and head wraps that protected them from the sun when they were outside the safety of the force field. She picked Zinni’s up and held it to her nose – even after sitting in the dusty garage for months, the intelligence officer’s scent still lingered in the material.
“I’m coming for you, Zin,” Ziva said aloud. “And if it’s too late, you can be damn sure I’ll take Ronan down for you.”
The thought sent a new wave of motivation through her and she climbed into the car instead of returning to the apartment above. There was no doubt someone up and about who could help her; the majority of Zylka’s inhabitants went to bed while it was still daylight and rose when it was still dark in an attempt to avoid the heat. She pulled the vehicle out of the garage and secured the door behind her, then sped off toward the spaceport.
Compared to the massive Haphezian cities she was used to, Zylka was miniscule, but it was still one of the largest settlements in this part of the Fringe, second only to Niio. Despite the relatively short distance from the apartment, it still took a good twenty minutes of weaving back and forth through the narrow streets to reach the port. People were beginning to emerge from their homes and set out for early morning work, accounting for larger crowds and more time waiting for traffic. The planet’s primary export was glass – no surprise considering the abundance of sand – and like mining in Argall, many of Zylka’s citizens were involved with the glass-making industry in one way or another. It was no wonder they liked to get early starts; Ziva couldn’t imagine trying to work out in the desert during the heat of the day.
She brought the car to a stop in front of a block of shops near the edge of the port. Their windows were all still dark, but smoke rose from a pair of pipes jutting from the roof of the café a few doors down.
Ziva fished a few credits out of her backpack and approached the little restaurant with her hand resting on her sidearm. She didn’t anticipate trouble, but people in these parts could be unpredictable. She paused for a moment outside the front door and listened, picking up the sounds of footsteps and machinery inside. The smell of cooking meat wafted out, and she kicked herself when she realized her mouth was watering.
She pounded her fist against the door several times and waited. The footsteps stopped. “We’re not open yet!” a tired voice shouted in accented Standard.
Exactly
, she thought, knocking again. The person inside cursed and let out an exasperated sigh, and Ziva heard the footsteps resume. She stepped to one side and curled her fingers around her pistol’s grip.
The door of the café slid open and the speaker turned on a light. “I
said
we’re not—” The man’s voice trailed off when he caught sight of her, and his eyes widened. “You. What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Ray,” Ziva muttered, arching an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not planning on making me stand out here all morning.”
The man shook his head and stepped back, opening the door wider to allow her entry. “You’ve only been gone four, five months. Why are you back already?”
“Oh,” Ziva said, tilting her head and feigning disappointment. “You mean you haven’t missed me?”
Ray made no move to respond. He stood there wiping his clammy palms on his apron while sweat gathered on his brow, shifting his attention between her and the kitchen.
“I’m not here for work this time,” Ziva explained, following him deeper into the café as he returned to what he’d been doing. “You could say I’m here for personal reasons.”
“Then that must mean you don’t actually need me for anything,” he said with a nervous chuckle, throwing her a glance to see whether she was laughing at his attempted joke. He looked back down at the grill in front of him when he saw she wasn’t.
Ziva smirked and took a moment to study him as she took a seat on one of the tall stools at the serving counter. He was small even for a human, a far cry from the burly men Tobias employed. In all the years she’d known him, he hadn’t gained a single kilo in fat or muscle. She wasn’t entirely sure how he could be so scrawny and stay alive. His hooked, pointy nose seemed far too large, and his receding hairline only served to make his face look even more disproportionate. He was a pitiful, unattractive little creature, someone who was easily manipulated – and the exact sort of person she enjoyed manipulating.
She remained silent just long enough to make him squirm. “I just need you to give me a little information,” she said, watching as he used a pair of tongs to remove several slabs of meat from the grill, probably flanks from one of the various species of lizard that dwelled in the desert. He began to chop the blackened meat into cubes – she kept a wary eye on the knife as he did so – and methodically slid each chunk onto a row of skewers.
“Why do you do this to me?” he muttered.
“Look, Ray. Our arrangement is still the same. You give me information I want when I want it, and I don’t tell anyone this place is a front for xanix trafficking. It’s as simple as that.”
He stopped cutting and glared at her for a moment, his thin lips pressed into a straight line. “I’m still not sure if I want to know how you figured that out.”
“Relax. If you think I care about a bunch of two-bit drug smugglers, you’re wrong.” She paused, recalling what Tobias had said about her spec ops status. “I have no reason to reveal your secret unless you give me one.”
She pulled out her data pad with one hand and the stack of credits with the other, slapping them down on the counter side by side. “You of course remember my sergeant,” she said, pointing to the photos of Skeet and Aroska displayed on the pad’s screen.
Lieutenant…Skeet’s a lieutenant now
. “Have you seen him or this guy around?”
The sight of the credits seemed to bolster Ray’s spirits a bit. “What is this, some kind of vacation spot for you people?” he quipped, picking up the stack and counting through it. “Yeah, Skeet was in here a couple of days ago, asking about a group of Durutians and something called Ronan.”
Ziva’s pulse spiked. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I’d never heard of Ronan and I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. But there’s been a squad of Durutian soldiers camped out here in the city for the past three weeks or so.”
“Three weeks? Did they come from Niio?”
“Beats me,” Ray answered as he continued skewering the cubes of meat. “They’ve been holed up in an apartment complex on the other side of the port.” He stopped to enter an approximate address into the pad. “They come out and prowl around the city during the day, but they mostly keep to themselves. A couple of them came in here to eat once. Everyone knows they’re here, but they leave us alone so we leave them alone.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Ziva was on her feet and tucking the data pad back into her pocket before he’d even finished talking. She turned to leave but paused for one last second, dropping another credit onto the counter. “Give me one of those,” she said, reaching across and snatching up one of the kebabs before Ray could protest. She bit into one of the juicy chunks of meat as she jogged out the door and leaped into the car. If Skeet and Aroska were in the city but not at the team’s apartment, she had a hunch she’d find them tailing the Durutians.
She entered the address into the car’s navigation system and took off toward her destination as fast as traffic would allow. If this was the same team of Durutians who had taken Zinni, she wasn’t sure why Skeet and Aroska would have waited until only a few days ago to come after them. Maybe they’d discovered a clue during a scouting run that had led them here and reunited them with the group, or maybe this was a different group entirely. Regardless of which was true, her team was severely outnumbered, and with Condition Black in place, they had no way of calling for help. She doubted they’d be willing to just sit by and do nothing if there was a chance to save Zinni; she just hoped they hadn’t gone and done anything stupid.
Once she made it past the spaceport, traffic began to thin out and Ziva accelerated. The clouds on the horizon were starting to turn brilliant shades of pink and orange and she knew it wouldn’t be long until daylight. She’d spent plenty of time roaming Zylka during the day, but with so many unknown factors at play, she preferred a more secretive approach in the dark. Her window of time for one was closing rapidly.
She guided the car down a side street, her eyes fixed on the counter that displayed the distance to her destination. She began to decelerate as she neared, sweeping her gaze around and keeping an eye out for any structures that could be the apartment complex Ray had described. The area was almost entirely residential, so she wasn’t sure if—
There
. Her eyes fell upon a figure wearing a set of all-too-familiar black armor. She steered the car to the side of the road and came to a complete stop, watching as the man came to the edge of an alley, took a cautious look around, then beckoned to someone behind him. That someone turned out to be a some
thing
, a large groundcar piloted by two more Durutian soldiers. The vehicle turned her way, and Ziva sank lower into her seat, watching with her peripherals as it passed. But when she saw who the passengers were, she couldn’t help but give it her undivided attention. Even through the transport’s tinted windows, she recognized Skeet’s orange hair. He was slumped against the door with his eyes closed, and the silhouette that held a similar position on the other side of him could only be Aroska. Another pair of armed Durutians rode in the third row of seats.
Ziva swore and slammed her palms against the steering controls. Four ‘borgs would be easy enough to deal with, but even if she managed to take them out, she’d have her two unconscious agents to deal with
and
the rest of the Durutians would be on her tail in no time. If they were going somewhere more secluded, she might be able to wait until then to make a move. But time would still be limited; with the force field in place, they’d have nowhere to run. They’d be trapped in the city unless she could get them back to the
Zenith
.
She sat still until the large vehicle was an adequate distance away and then turned her own car around, following in its wake. Confident that the truck would be easy to spot in traffic, she turned down the next side street and wove around the block, flying parallel to it until they reached one of the city’s main thoroughfares. She stopped the car, using a cluster of other parked vehicles for cover, and waited.