Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone (15 page)

‘You just said she was unhinged. How the hell can she volunteer?’

‘Anyone ever tell you that you think too much?’

‘I thought that’s why they commissioned me. Sound judgment.’

‘This isn’t sound judgment. It’s a failure to see the world as it is. There are policies that exist that guide those of us above your rank and level of experience. The circumstances demand that you be exposed to them now. Before you’re ready, apparently. Tough luck. The SOC makes those rules, and you carry them out, as you swore you would. Those rules say that Selfer belongs to us. They say that her fate is subject to commander’s discretion in extreme cases. This is a call I’m going to let Gatanas make. And I need to know you’re on board because I’m pretty damn sure what he’s going to say as soon as he sees this.

‘So, are we clear here?’ Crucible asked. The hand had come away from Harlequin’s shoulder, and his eyes were hard again. ‘You just gave me this big speech about the difference between us and Selfers, didn’t you? What was that difference?’

Harlequin met his eyes and swallowed. ‘Regs. We follow the rules.’

‘Well, now you know what the rules say, Mister Sheepdog. Fucking follow them.’

Chapter Eight

Parley

As children, we all struggle with an odd sense of nostalgia. We come to the edge of a lake, a copse in a larger wood. We feel . . . something. A sense of longing, a hint that there’s something deeper behind the beauty, a thing we touch only in dreams, in bedtime stories. I’ve heard Christians refer to this as the heart’s longing for a lost Garden of Eden. But now we know better. It is the current of the Source, moving through our plane, promising wonders just on the other side of the curtain, if only we can find a way to pull it aside.

– Margaret Torres
The Psychology of Magic

Swift leapt out the window.

He let himself fall for a moment before Binding his magic to the updrafts around him, the concentrated blast of air sending him bounding skyward, then dipping again, the bobbing flight of the swallow tattooed on his chest. He extended a hand, channeling a funnel of lightning above him, into the delta of winged-snake things. Their jeweled-looking feathers ignited, dart-shaped heads tossing. Their formation splintered apart, scattering them to plunge among the buildings.

Swift glanced over his shoulder. Betony stood at the window, hands braced on the pane. Her gray hair had come out of its jeweled clasp, tumbled across her shoulders. A non-Latent sympathizer, her apartment had been a haven to the shattered remnants of the Houston Street Gang since they’d first been splintered. Her endless wealth had fed them, bought clothing and medicine. He would not suffer harm to come to her. ‘Get inside and get down!’ he shouted, then dove. At least twenty of the flying serpents swarmed over the few blocks they’d managed to keep clear. He’d have to pursue them one by one.

Below him, what was left of the gang joined the fight. Guinevere had been a corporate mover before she’d come up Latent, easing into her early thirties in a bubble of soft wealth. Magic had made her a woman already one step ahead of him. She raced out of the building foyer, kicking off her fancy shoes, the skirt of her business suit riding up her thighs. He felt her tide coalesce, the moisture in the air below him crystallizing. A handful of the things suddenly dropped like stones, their bodies frozen solid.

‘I’ve got it!’ she shouted up to him. ‘Help Flicker!’

The Pyromancer stood on the top of the Terramantic wall they’d raised, spanning Hubert Street. Swift had first met him in a Manhattan subway tunnel when the Houston Street Gang had taken him in.

Little Bear was one of the gang’s better Terramancers, so enamored of Big Bear that he took the diminutive of his name. Big Bear’s death had devastated him, but it hadn’t weakened his magic. He’d stretched the surface of the rock and asphalt wall into spikes at first, but had re-formed it glass smooth after the first wave of goblins used them to climb up.

Flicker’s bald head shone with sweat, eyes closed, teeth gritted in concentration. The street before him smoked, burning in patches, dotted with the smoldering remains of the weird, talking-horse things that had made up the vanguard of this latest wave. Spur, the former NBA basketball player turned Selfer, hovered beside him, his magic Binding somewhere above them. As Swift watched, a gale howled across the building top, ripping the wooden water tower from its moorings, sending it bouncing down to shatter in an explosion of splinters. Swift, Spur, and Flicker cried out and ducked as the spray of shrapnel barely cleared their heads. When Swift opened his eyes, the street was clear, the burned patches smoking, corpses swirling, and the ash turning to slurry in the sudden flood.

‘Nice one,’ Swift said, ‘not only did you almost blind us, but now we’re without water.’

Spur shot him a venomous look, and Swift immediately regretted the words. None of the remnants of the gang had ever been to the SASS. They had no training beyond what life on the run had provided. Skill beats will, went the old SOC axiom. Swift was reminded of the truth of those words with each passing day.

The
Gahe
stayed halfway down the block, unimpressed by the exploding water tower or the Pyromancy that had preceded it.

‘What the hell are they waiting for?’ Swift asked.

‘It can’t be good,’ Spur said. ‘Come on, let’s . . .’ He gestured back toward Betony’s building, indicating the winged snakes. Swift nodded, turned.

But the creatures had already resumed a smaller delta, were winging their way back over their heads and down the street toward the
Gahe
.

‘You scared them off,’ Swift said to Guinevere.

The Hydromancer looked exhausted. Blood trickled from her temple. Her jacket had ripped at the shoulder. ‘No way,’ she panted. ‘They were all over me. Somebody called them off.’

‘Swift!’ The shout echoed down the corridor of the street.

He knew that voice. He shivered.

‘Swift! I just want to talk!’

Guinevere looked up, eyes widening. ‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed.

‘I told you it was her,’ Swift said. ‘I’ll go see what she wants.’

He Bound his magic to fly up to the wall, found Guinevere’s hand holding fast to his elbow. ‘What?’ he asked, removing it gently. ‘You think she’ll just go away?’

He let the wind carry him to the earthen catwalk. Spur and Flicker stared down the street.

The
Gahe
were closer now, stutter-flashing restlessly back and forth. Scylla stood between them. She’d traded the leather armor for a scavenged SWAT uniform, black trousers bloused into black boots, body armor still sporting the city’s subdued coat of arms. Swift felt her current, so strong it battered his senses. His brief attempts at learning to Suppress had yielded mixed results. He knew that, even if he made the attempt, he lacked the strength to interdict her current. He’d seen what Scylla could do. If she wanted him dead, he’d be dead. Swift didn’t believe in heaven, but it couldn’t stop the tiny ember of hope that he might see Shai again. He tried to muster some steel in his voice. He’d spent a long night locked in the hole with Scylla. He knew all too well how she could play on fear. It was like heroin to her. ‘That’s close enough. What do you want?’

‘You’re angry about the attack. I’m sorry. This is a mixed army of a hundred different races with hundreds of different agendas. I have a lot less control over them than I like to admit.’ The smug grin she’d always worn was absent. She looked tired.

‘Why on God’s green earth would you unleash that here?’ Swift asked.

‘It’s not God’s earth, Swift, it’s ours. And you know why I brought them here. Armies aren’t exactly easy to come by, and, unfortunately, we’re not going to be able to change things without one.’

‘We?’

‘Well, sure. Why do you think I’m doing this?’

‘You’re doing this for us. You’re obliterating the greatest city in the country for us.’

‘Liberating, not obliterating, and yes. It’s for all Selfers. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you. You were in the SASS, hell, you were even in the hole with me . . .’

‘And I’ll never forget it . . .’

‘Come on! I was in solitary confinement for years. They’d stolen my company and my life, turned everything I’d built over to a pack of scumbags who only cared about turning a profit. Can you blame me for being a bit unpleasant?’

Guinevere had joined them on the parapet. ‘Grace,’ she said.

‘Don’t call me that,’ Scylla snapped, ‘nobody calls me that anymore.’ She shook her head, mastered herself. ‘You have been running from the SOC for too long. This country will never be safe for us until we take it back, and by force. Why are they in charge, and you’re shivering in this rubbish bin? You’re stronger than them, Swift. You always have been.’

‘What do you want from us?’ Guinevere asked.

‘Jenny.’ Grace beamed at her. ‘You remember. I wasn’t some greedy thug. I did good things with my money. I would have done good things with Limbic Dampener if the whole operation hadn’t been stolen from me. Tell them.’

‘It’s true,’ Guinevere mumbled.

‘You’re on the wrong side, Swift,’ Scylla said. ‘Help me win this.’

‘We’re not on any side, Scylla,’ Swift said. ‘We’re on our own side.’

‘That’s the wrong side,’ Scylla answered. ‘Divided, we fall. It’s time we show the humans who’s boss. When this is over, we’ll build something beautiful, a place where Latent people can be free. But like all things worth having, we have to work for it. It’s hard, bloody work, but it’s so, so worth it.’

‘Speaking of humans,’ Swift said, ‘I don’t see many with you, and by “not many”, I mean “none”.’

Scylla glanced at the
Gahe
. ‘They may not be humans, but they’re people. We used to look at humans of different skin colors the same way, and we were wrong to. The
Gahe
love the Apache, Swift. They see them as their own children. You should see the jewelry the goblins have made for me. It’s beautiful. They have a culture. They have goals and wants and a vision for the future, just like you and I. And that vision includes being free of threat from the SOC. They’re people, Swift. Just like us, and every other Selfer out there. I want all the people under my banner. I’m about to put the word out to every Selfer in this country. I’d like you standing at my side when I do it.’

‘What’s in it for us?’

‘Freedom.’

‘That doesn’t mean a whole lot. The SOC promises the same thing.’

‘You remember Limbic Dampener, don’t you? I invented it.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Well, to be fair, researchers working for me developed it, but it was still my project. That’s why the SOC threw me in the hole, Swift. They wanted to give the whole operation to Entertech. That drug is the key to all of this. Freely distributed, it would change everything. People can’t call us dangerous if all of us have our magic under control all the time. I remember enough about the development. With a lab and some support, I can get it moving again.’

‘I control my magic without Dampener. So do you.’

‘It’s not about us, Swift. It’s about the newly Manifested. It’s about those who just don’t have a knack for it.’

She rolled her eyes at Swift’s silence. ‘Fine. How about a place at the helm? How many of there are you?’

‘Nice try.’

‘Whatever. However many of you there are will be part of the ruling council when we establish our new state. I can’t say what will happen otherwise.’

‘Now, that sounds like a threat.’

‘It’s a fact. You can’t expect the people who bleed and die for the new order to have a whole lot of patience for those who sat on the sidelines.’

‘We’ll take it under advisement. I don’t rule here, Scylla. I have to talk this over with everyone.’

‘Two days. I’ll come for your answer then. I’m only coming one more time.’

‘Okay. Think you can keep your pets out of here until then?’

She nodded. ‘One last thing. Oscar Britton wouldn’t happen to be hiding in there, would he?’

Swift’s blood went cold. He tried to keep his voice even. ‘Haven’t spoken to him in forever.’

‘Well, if you ever do happen to speak to him, would you please pass on my offer? Britton has been pushing for the distribution of Dampener himself. He’ll see reason.’

Swift watched her go, the
Gahe
sliding along beside her, the goblins withdrawing into the alleys between the buildings. Within the space of a minute, the street was clear.

‘We should keep watch,’ Spur said.

‘No need,’ Swift said. ‘She’ll keep her word.’

‘So, we’re joining her?’ Flicker asked.

‘It’s what we wanted, isn’t it?’ Spur asked. ‘She’s got a real shot at undoing . . . this.’

Swift felt a cold thrill work its way up his neck, pulsing painfully in his head. ‘You don’t know her,’ he said. ‘She’s fucking crazy.’

‘All revolutionary ideas sound crazy,’ Guinevere said. ‘Years later, when they’re the law of the land, they don’t sound crazy anymore. She built one of the most powerful companies in the country, Swift. You’ve got to be a little crazy to pull that off.’

Swift shook his head. ‘No way.’

‘You don’t speak for us,’ Flicker said. ‘You’re not Big Bear.’

‘I never claimed to be. I’m just letting you know my limit. I’m not working with that woman. Not ever.’

‘So what do we do?’ Spur asked. ‘She’s going to come for us if we don’t join up.’

‘She gave us two days. We take them. We discuss it,’ Swift said.

‘And Oscar?’ Guinevere asked. ‘Does he get a vote?’

Swift sighed. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Him, too.’

Chapter Nine

Diplomacy

The Québécois ‘Loup-Garou’ units boast some of the best Terramancers in the world. They anchor each squad, a Whispered wolf never far away. These wolves are both the totems and mascots of the Loup-Garou. The soldiers treat them like favored children, eating, fighting, and sleeping beside them. If the Loup-Garou have to starve to ensure their wolves eat, they gladly do so. When the animals die, their masters wear their skins draped over their shoulders, heads above their own helmets in ancient Roman fashion. The words ‘Les nôtres’ are stitched in gold thread along the snout, French for ‘Our own.’

– Country Guide 207-66A: Sovereign Territory of Quebec
Publication of the United States Marine Corps Intelligence Activity

The hallway was so thickly carpeted, it swallowed sound. The walls were punctuated with white recessed paneling etched in gold. Light fixtures dripped crystal beads, the compact fluorescent bulbs shaped to mimic candles. The space had that air of official sanctity that commanded silence. Harlequin’s security detail stepped lightly, whispering to one another. He knew the floors below were a maelstrom of activity, with some staffs packing up to evacuate, others wheeling and dealing in the midst of the chaos. Somewhere down there, his request through Gatanas was probably languishing in a bureaucratic mire.

The climate was surreal, ostentatious decoration and office politicking in the middle of an unfolding disaster. But that was always the way for soldiers, forced to straddle worlds: one foot on the battlefield, doing the dirty job they were paid to do, and another in an air-conditioned office with the officials who paid them to do it. He’d embraced that role a long time ago. It was the sheepdog’s way.

Harlequin had expected a giant chamber with a semicircular table and a map of the world on the wall. Instead, he was led into a room furnished with a dark wooden desk and two leather-upholstered chairs. Two glasses of water stood on a silver tray. The contrast with the bloody, burning reality of the southern tip of the island stunned him.

‘If you’ll just take a seat, sir,’ one of the security men said, then left.

Harlequin paced instead, hands behind his back, thinking of the time they were losing while he lingered here. He looked down at his uniform, unchanged for two days now, covered with dirt, spent cordite, streaks of blood. He was ashamed of his appearance for a moment, but it was for the best. He was here to convince them that a desperate situation was unfolding just south of them. Desperate people were seldom clean.

The door opened, and a group of suits entered, five men and one woman, followed by two more of the armed security guards. One of them, a lean man with graying brown hair and dark eyes, led the bunch, smiling grimly, offering Harlequin a limp handshake. An American flag was pinned to his lapel.

‘Ambassador Hallert,’ Harlequin said.

The man nodded. ‘Thank you for coming, Lieutenant Colonel.’ He turned to the man beside him, who had a shaggy mop of black hair and a beak of a nose. ‘May I present Marc-Antoine Desmarais. Monsieur Desmarais is the UN ambassador from Canada.’

‘Sir.’ Harlequin shook the man’s hand, realizing that his own was streaked with filth. ‘Apologies, for that. I’ve just come from the fighting.

‘I hope you’ll pardon me,’ Harlequin said, ‘but would it be possible for me to have a word in private with Ambassador Hallert before we . . .’

‘Your business here is with the council,’ said an Asian man in slightly accented English. ‘Given your nation’s past history of making bilateral arrangements with other council members, it’s critical that all conversations be held in full hearing of bloc representatives.’

The last was addressed to Hallert. The ambassador didn’t betray so much as the slightest discomfort, but Harlequin winced inwardly.
It’s because of India. It’s because we both had FOBs in the Source. They think we were working together, and they’re mad as hell about it.

‘Ambassador Tan represents Singapore,’ Hallert said. ‘He currently holds the chairmanship of the council. I’ve already briefed the council on the situation, but they thought that you might be able to give a personal perspective on the matter.’

Harlequin scanned the representatives before him. ‘The ambassador from Mexico . . .’ he began.

‘Is not here,’ Tan responded. He gestured to a stone-faced woman in a cream-colored suit. ‘Guatemala is speaking for the Latin American and Caribbean Bloc on this matter.’

That couldn’t be good. Harlequin swallowed, tried to find his center.

‘It’s bad,’ he began. ‘We have a major incursion from the Source into the southern tip of Manhattan. I have barricades holding the northern edge along Houston Street. They are hard-pressed, and I’m not sure how much longer they can maintain the perimet . . .’

Tan cut in. ‘I hear that you have an abundance of reinforcements from army bases in New Jersey and some as close as Brooklyn. Those barricades are well manned.’

‘That’s partially true, sir, and it is helping, but that’s not the root of the problem.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Some of the enemy are impervious to conventional ordnance, sir. They are only susceptible to magic. We need arcane assistance on the ground to combat them. If they break through, I should remind you that it is only a five-hour drive to the Canadian border’ – he addressed this last to Desmarais – ‘and only about a thirty-minute walk to this very building.’

He turned to the Guatemalan ambassador. ‘And you are no doubt already aware that a similar incident is currently ongoing on the Mescalero Apache reservation in New Mexico. That’s just over one hundred miles from the Mexican border, ma’am. This is absolutely Mexico’s problem, and a problem for your entire bloc.’

‘And you are so certain that this enemy has designs beyond the borders of the United States?’ Tan asked.

As if that’s all that matters.
Harlequin felt himself flush. Ambassador Hallert must have seen it, and he began to speak, but Harlequin mastered himself and cut him off.

‘I know the woman who is leading this attack. I am the man who captured her when she first came up Latent. I knew her while we had her in custody. She will stop at nothing, absolutely nothing, to bring about what she perceives as a new and just social order: one in which Latent people rule all others. We know very little about the creatures she has solicited to help her, but we do know that they are killers and see themselves as gods among the Apache. I can’t imagine they have positive intentions toward the rest of humanity, or that our idea of a border is going to mean all that much to them.’

The Guatemalan representative looked at Tan, who turned back to Harlequin. ‘And how, exactly, are these forces gaining entry to this city and to the Mescalero reservation?’

Harlequin looked to Hallert and saw no help there. They both knew that Tan already knew the answer to his question.

‘Through some kind of rent in the planar fabric, sir,’ Harlequin said. ‘We’d believed there were “thin spots” in the past that the
Gahe
were using to access the Mescalero reservation, but only in ones and twos. It appears that the woman I mentioned to you earlier has found a way to use her Negramancy to widen the apertures. It’s admitting the creatures at a greater rate than we’re going to be able to handle.’

Tan shook his head, turning to Hallert. ‘You sat on this council, not a year ago, trying to convince us of the wisdom of your McGauer-Linden Act. You have pressed for sanctions against Haiti for trafficking in Necromancy. My friend from Guatemala here has spent years lobbying for the
Dios de los Muertos
exception. The force the United States has put behind its prohibition efforts for your “Probe” schools has been considerable. When we did discover there were . . . flaws in that presentation . . .’

Hallert broke in. ‘That’s still under debate, Mr Tan, and you must realize that the administration responsible for those violations has been impeached and resigned. Our current president . . .’

‘You’ll doubtless understand that there are some concerns about the representations surrounding the McGauer-Linden Act and your commitment to it moving forward,’ Tan said. ‘I do want to point out that the one Probe school this body is certain was employed by the US was Portamancy, and what Lieutenant Colonel Thorsson here is describing sounds very much like that.’

‘It is very much like that,’ Harlequin said, ‘but this isn’t our doing.’

Tan said nothing, meeting his eyes flatly.
Why should they believe us? Hell, I’ve got a Probe Elementalist inside my headquarters working illegal magic as we speak.

‘You are, no doubt, familiar with your nation’s Cuban Missile Crisis, Lieutenant Colonel?’ Tan asked.

Now it was Harlequin’s turn to say nothing.

‘Your country reacted with great . . . expediency in dealing with a strategic threat well inside its sphere of influence, in fact, on its very border.’

Tan lowered his head, looking at Harlequin from under his furrowed brow. ‘The Source is on everyone’s border, Lieutenant Colonel. And the threat proposed by the mightiest of your so-called prohibited magical schools is very strategic indeed.’

Tan straightened, folded his arms. ‘The Asian Bloc of this body is currently undergoing an intensive examination of India’s involvement in the Gate-Gate incident. Restoring this body’s trust in the good faith and transparency of both of your nations is going to take some time. I’ve commissioned a fact-finding mission to your Breach Zone to ascertain the nature of the incursion. We’re also sending a team to Mescalero. Until such time as the results of that commission are determined and analyzed, I cannot in good conscience concur with directing armed intervention on your nation’s behalf, especially armed intervention with arcane units.’

Harlequin’s heart sank. He had known this was coming from the moment he’d first seen Tan’s expression, but the reality of it hit home. ‘Sir, respectfully, whatever you may think of my government, please consider my people. We are facing an enemy in overwhelming numbers in the nerve center of our homeland. We need help, and we need it now. Without it, people are going to die. I would be delighted to stand for whatever atonement you think my nation should pay to make right for our failing to disclose our presence in the Source . . .’

‘. . . Lieutenant Colonel!’ Hallert broke in. ‘That’s not a commitment you can make! I’m sorry, sir . . .’ he said to Tan, but Harlequin cut him off.

‘. . . but that’s for later. The fight is right now. People are dying right now. By the time your commission gives its results and you reach a determination, it will be far too late.’

He turned to the Guatemalan ambassador. ‘I need you to pass our request on to Mexico. We need their help in Mescalero if not in New York City.’ He turned to Desmarais. ‘Canada as well. Like it or not, this is your fight, too, or very soon will be if you don’t get involved while we still have a chance of controlling it.’

The Guatemalan ambassador looked from the floor to Ambassador Tan, refusing to meet Harlequin’s eyes. Desmarais met his gaze steadily, then inclined his head to Hallert. ‘I will relay your request to my government and to the Western European and Other Nations Bloc.’

Tan looked furious. ‘I think we’ve heard everything we need, Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you for your time.’

Harlequin knew better than to press the matter. ‘Sir,’ he said stiffly.

Hallert escorted him back out into the hallway as the rest of the group exited by another door. ‘I would really have appreciated a chance to pregame that with you, sir,’ Harlequin said.

Hallert took his elbow. ‘You did fine, better than fine, in fact. You have to remember that things like this are usually already decided, and the real work is going on in the background.’

‘So you’re saying I’m screwed.’

‘Quite the contrary,’ Hallert said. ‘Mexico is under a lot of pressure, but Mescalero is right on top of them, and we’re their biggest trading partner no matter what pressure the LAC puts on them.’ He looked up at Harlequin’s blank expression. ‘Sorry, the Latin America and Caribbean bloc. We can work on them.’

Hallert’s voice was placid, attentive, carrying that subtle undercurrent that made you feel like you were the only other person in the world. He wanted to trust that voice instinctively. It was the voice of government, of big institutions like the Army, of the structures that had been his home and career since the National Guard youth-challenge program he’d joined in high school. But he’d heard that voice before, and the memory sent a chill up his spine.

Former President Walsh sounded like that. So did Scylla.

‘And Canada?’ Harlequin asked.

‘We’ve already got Canada. Desmarais assured me privately they’re scrambling a support unit out of Quebec. Their
Loup-Garous
. Terramancy like you’ve never seen.’

Harlequin felt an ember of hope in his chest, cautiously fanned it. The Québécois were famous for flouting the Geneva Convention Amendment’s prohibition of Whispering. If there was any arcane fighting force that wouldn’t balk at the stigma of Probe magic, it was them. But Hallert was a politician, and Harlequin had been learning a thing or two about them since Oscar Britton went rogue.

‘Why would they help us if the Mexicans won’t? Mescalero’s a lot closer to Mexico than New York City is to Canada.’

‘I already said, don’t count the Mexicans out. Besides, we’ve got a deal in the works to help them extract oil from the tar sands they’ve got up there. Promising nearly all of the Army Corps of Engineers Terramantic Support Element. It’d be an economic hit for us, but it’ll help move them on the issue. The Chinese already do Terramantic engineering at home, and this will give us an excuse to get in that game.’

He stopped, clapping Harlequin on the shoulder and smiling.

‘What?’ Harlequin asked, amazed.

‘This is your doing, Lieutenant Colonel. I don’t think you fully appreciate how your actions at FOB Frontier changed things. You changed the conversation. Things’ll move slow, but they’ll come, sure as the sun rises. Amazing. I know you don’t get a lot of support for what you did, and I can’t honestly say I don’t have mixed feelings about it, but I wanted you to know that I, for one, am happy you’re on the job here. There’s a lot I’ve been wanting to accomplish that is only now becoming possible because of what you did.’