The ganger was scared to death, broken and pathetic. Cain knew what he had to do, but he didn’t like the idea of killing such a miserable, pitiful creature. He couldn’t let him go, and they could hardly risk taking him with them – they’d have their hands full enough without worrying about a prisoner. Thousands of lives were riding on this mission, useful, productive lives. Innocent lives. Nothing was worse, in Erik’s opinion, than a merciless bully who turned into a whimpering coward when threatened. And he knew that if he let the little shit go he’d just kill and torture more Cogs. But despite his contempt, it was still difficult. Cain himself had been like this once, perhaps not as casually brutal, but troubled nonetheless. He was given a second chance, something this kid would never have. Erik didn’t like it, but he did what he had to do.
The duct was wide enough for them to crawl through one at a time. Cain was about to climb through first, but he faced a near-mutiny over the issue and finally relented, allowing Teller to take the lead. It was a tight fit, especially carrying weapons, but eventually they found their way in, cutting through the duct and dropping down into the control room of the reactor.
There were half a dozen technicians there, but Cain’s team managed to take them all out before anyone could sound the alarm. Erik knew there were monitoring devices throughout the building – their chances of going anywhere undetected were nil. They had to rely on speed and surprise. No one at Alliance Intelligence expected this kind of incursion, he was sure of that.
They stayed in the control room for a few minutes, reviewing the plan then they moved into the hallway, jogging quickly. According to Vance there was a stairwell just down the hall from the reactor. Cain wanted to avoid the lifts; they were probably closely monitored. They didn’t run into anyone else on the lower level, but they had no idea if they’d been monitored or detected in some other way.
The stairs were just where Vance said they would be – Cain was starting to trust the Martian…just a little bit. They raced upward, moving past the door marked Sub-Sector C, the entrance to the infamous torture chamber of Alliance Intelligence. Cain doubted Garret would be there – usually VIP prisoners were kept in the substantially more comfortable Sub-Sector B, one level above.
They reached the B level unmolested and scrambled down the corridor. I can’t believe our luck, Erik was thinking, just as four guards and a man in a perfectly-tailored suit rounded the corner. The guards wore one-piece black uniforms, jumpsuits really, with pistols holstered at their sides. The man was perhaps sixty, with a considerable dusting of gray on his neatly trimmed black hair. The uniformed guards seemed like hardcases – big and tough-looking, but the other man didn’t fit the image of a spy…he could have been a bookkeeper or a teacher to look at him.
The guards reacted quickly, but they couldn’t match the combat reflexes of Cain’s veterans. Assault rifles snapped up in an instant and fired. The guns were old and obsolete, but they were still deadly. Three of the guards fell immediately, all dead or mortally wounded. The fourth managed to duck behind the corridor and draw his pistol before Teller was on him, grabbing the hand with the gun and shoving a blade under his ribs.
The man in the suit was gone. He’d ducked around the corner faster than anyone expected he could move, and by the time Teller took out the last guard, he was gone. There was a trail of blood – the team’s fire must have hit him – and it ended at a sealed hatch. They tried to get it open, but it was a heavy door and they didn’t have time to waste. They were there to get Garret, not chase down some Alliance Intelligence administrator.
“Let’s go, down to the main control desk.” Erik snapped out the order decisively. “Garret is prisoner G1701 according to Vance’s intel. Let’s find his cell and get the hell out of here.”
There were lights dancing in front of Gavin Stark’s eyes. The pain in his shoulder was almost unbearable; Stark was tough in his own way, but he was a manipulator, not a warrior. He could feel every heartbeat pounding in his arm, and it was agony. His shirt and jacket were both soaked through with blood.
He managed to get away – he was surprised himself at the speed of his reflexes. The guards were all down; he was sure of that. There were plenty more guards on this level, and they would respond to the shooting. He had no idea how anyone got in without being detected sooner, but when he got out of here he was damned sure going to find out. If he got out.
I should be OK in here, he thought. He’d managed to duck into one of the maximum security holding cells. The door was solid plasti-steel, and without the access code the interlopers would need a massive explosive to take it out, one that would rip apart the entire corridor and everything around it. Of course, if they were here to assassinate him, that is exactly what they would do.
No, he thought, not assassination…they couldn’t have known I was coming down here. Then what? His mind was fuzzy; it was hard to think. Pain, blood loss…Stark was lying against the door trying to focus as he grew fainter and fainter. He could feel the slickness of his blood all around…on the door, covering the smooth tile floor. He reached for his communicator. “Stark here…intrusion…Sub-Sec…tor B.” He gasped for breath, trying to force his mind to cut through the growing haze. “Acti…vate protocol…C3.” His voice was weak, soft. He heard something in the distance. A voice was calling back to him, asking him to repeat.
“Protocol…C…3…” He wasn’t sure if he said it again or just thought it before he drifted deeper and deeper into the darkness.
“Blow the fucking thing.” Cain’s voice was tense. “Now!” He had three men holding each end of the corridor, but there were guards coming from every direction. They’d found Garret’s cell – at least they thought it was his – but their fight with the guards had advertised their presence. An alarm was sounding now, and security forces were responding.
Erik had spent about thirty seconds arguing with Teller about blasting open the door. They’d set the charge, but it was a big one. It had to be; the door was heavily armored. Teller was worried the explosion would be too massive. They didn’t come all this was to blow Admiral Garret to bits in his cell. But if they didn’t get the door open immediately then none of it was going to matter anyway.
Teller still looked doubtful, but it wasn’t in him to question Cain’s orders. He looked at Erik one last time, and at his superior’s nod he flipped the switch. The corridor reverberated as the charge blew, filling the hallway with fire and smoke. Cain was the first one down the hall, rushing through the shattered remains of the doorway.
“Admiral Garret?” The room was full of smoke, and the lights had been knocked out, so Cain couldn’t see anything. “Admiral, we’re here to get you out.”
Cain was anxious, desperate to hear the admiral’s voice. It was only a second, maybe two or three, but it seemed like an eternity before the response came. First Erik heard coughing, then a scratchy voice calling to him. “Garret here.” More coughing. “Who are you?”
“It’s Erik Cain and the Marines, sir.” Cain started walking toward the sound, feeling around in the hazy darkness. “We’re here to get you out.”
“General Cain?” Garret’s voice was hoarse and he was struggling to speak audibly through the smoke. “How did you get here?”
“That’s a long story, sir.” Cain’s hand finally found the general, and he grabbed hold of Garret’s arm. “We’re still in the middle of Alliance Intelligence HQ right now, so I suggest we discuss it later.” He gripped the admiral’s arm more firmly and pulled. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”