Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone (40 page)

His lips felt numb, his mouth too tired to form words, but he dug deep again and found a way. ‘Grace Lyons. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. I place you in military custody for unlawful magic use and practices proscribed under section 8.A.2.’

The hard eyes shot left and right. She was still a wolf, but a panicked one. Her hips and thighs tensed, poised to break and run, but there was nowhere to go. Below her, crackling gunshots were followed by sizzling pops as Harlequin’s troops used Bookbinder’s magical ammunition to push the enemy back into the Breach.

Regs said to bring her in alive.
Fuck regs.
Regs created this mess in the first place.

But there was still justice.

And something more, the wrenching in his gut that reminded him that, despite all she’d done, he loved this woman, couldn’t bear to see her die. Even now, even after everything.

A low growl started in her throat, rising to her jaw to erupt into a bass scream. Her eyes narrowed to slits, cords standing out on her neck, her fingers hooked. Harlequin’s eyes widened as he saw tears stream down her face. The scream gradually shifted to sobs, then to words.

‘Why, damn it? Fucking why? Why would you help them? They’re the fucking sheep! You hated them, and you were right to! They’re beneath you.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Harlequin said. ‘I was wrong. They are me, and I’m them.

‘That’s the thing you never understood. You think a couple of differences, even big differences, makes us another species?’

He swept his hand in a wide arc, taking in the
Limpiados
and Swift on the roof, the soldiers and police officers below. Selfer and soldier, Latent and non-Latent, surging around her, fighting to get the Breach secured. ‘So, we’re different. That’s what it means to be human. A couple of folks, even a lot of folks, hurting you doesn’t change that. It doesn’t make them sheep. It never did.’

He took a step toward her, ignoring the burning in his fingers as they followed the familiar course, pulling out a pair of zip cuffs, the kind he’d never ceased to carry in his cargo pocket. ‘Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.’

Helo rotors beat the sky above, and he heard ropes slap the roof behind him, followed by the whirring of reinforced leather palms against braided nylon as soldiers fast-roped down. Scylla crouched farther away, eyes flicking back and forth, desperately seeking a way out.

She looked back to Harlequin, her composure returning. The corner of her mouth quirked, and she stood, looking as if her capture had been part of the plan all along.

‘You’ll reap what you sow,’ she said. ‘They won’t negotiate, and they won’t amend anything. They’ll bicker and lie and put their boots right back on your neck. The only way to ever get them to treat you fairly is to crush them. Nothing you’ve done here changes that. You may move from the fields to the house, but you’re still a slave.’

Harlequin looked over the fighting in the street below, saw one of the Fornax Coven Novices standing alongside a Selfer in a billowing red dress, pouring their flames together to ignite a crescent of ground around one corner of the Breach, the
Gahe
drawing back inside the portal as the flames rose.

I’m sorry
, he thought.
Oh, Grace. I’m so sorry.
But, ‘We’ll see,’ was what he said. ‘We’ll both see. The difference is that I’ll be at the negotiating table, and you’ll be locked up and awaiting judgment.’

Scylla laughed aloud at that, tossing her head. Her careless look was belied by the surge in her current, struggling to break through the Suppression. Struggling and failing. ‘Silly boy,’ she said, ‘nobody can judge me.’

And then she threw up her hands, pushed off with her heels, arced her back as gracefully as a diver, and leapt backward off the roof.

Harlequin cursed and raced forward, dropping the Suppression to get himself airborne, following her passage. But he was injured, slow. The wet slap of her body against the pavement below had sounded before he’d cleared the edge, offering him enough of a glance to make him turn away in horror.

Currents swirled around him, coming from Swift, the Selfers, and the Sorcerers fighting on the street below. But he knew Scylla’s, had come over the years to be able to recognize it like the smell of his father’s pipe smoke.

It was gone.

A gate flashed open beside him, bringing Britton, Bookbinder, and Downer onto the roof. They came up short at the stunned looks of the assembled people there. Looked around, back to Harlequin.

‘What happened?’ Bookbinder asked.

‘Where is she?’ Britton added.

‘She’s gone,’ Harlequin said, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. ‘It’s over.’

‘No.’ Swift didn’t sound sad at all. ‘It’s just getting started.’

Epilogue

Horse Trading

Sudden, explosive change never sticks around. It’s the slow, thematic shifts that last.

– Professor Barbara Quinn, Political Science Department,
New York University

Oscar Britton looked ridiculous in a suit.

Uncomfortable for starters. The shirt collar was too tight, his bull neck spilling over the sides, muscle looking more like fat. With his bald head and lantern jaw, Britton looked like some kind of mob enforcer hauled in for a criminal trial. It didn’t help that his tie was skewed off to one side, and he kept making it worse by tugging at the collar, trying to get himself some much-needed air.

Harlequin had only ever seen the man in three sets of clothes: a military uniform, a prison jumpsuit, and now this.
We’ve really come full circle, friend. Haven’t we?

The breakout room in the basement of the US Capitol was well guarded, both inside and out. Armed police lined the curving walls of the chamber in their dress uniforms, but the tailored jackets didn’t hide the bulky body armor beneath. The shining, patent-leather holsters held guns with operational loads, unsnapped and ready to go.

Not that it would help if it came to a fight. Half the people in the room were Latent.

The delegations had broken out informally, sitting together out of interest, familiarity, and common goals around the circular table. Harlequin sat beside Bookbinder, both in their class-A uniforms. Sarah Downer sat beside them in a cream-colored suit. She wore simple pearl studs that matched her necklace, combining with her serious expression to make her look a lot older than she was.

Britton sat beside Therese. She wore a suit as well but looked much more natural in it than Downer. Swift and Guinevere, the two promised delegates from the Houston Street Gang, sat with them. Their suits were hipper but still respectful of the official proceedings.

A small group of staffers surrounded the Mexican ambassador, Arturo Suchicital, whose cologne was so thick that Harlequin could smell it from across the wide table. Beside Suchicital sat another man, head shaved, faint scars on his scalp and ears where Physiomancy had leveled protrusions and closed up holes. His suit matched the ambassador’s, but he’d deliberately kept a small tattoo of some numbered code below his left eye, a reminder to the assembled that while he was officially part of the Mexican delegation, he spoke for the
Limpiados
and their masters in the Zeta cartel. Harlequin could feel his current, strong and controlled, and wondered what school he was. Bookbinder would know.

Beside Harlequin and Bookbinder sat Senator William Bainbridge. He was a clone of Walsh and Porter both: fit, older, perfectly coiffed and upright, a look of benevolent gravity etched on his face. A small plaque had been placed in front of him, the only one on the table.
CHAIR
, it read.
MCGAUER-LINDEN ACT WORKING GROUP
.

Bainbridge, Harlequin noted, was not Latent. Nor were any of his staff, a small army of lawyers, policy wonks, and analysts who took up the rest of the chamber, dwarfing the other delegations by a factor of ten.

Behind him, flat-screen monitors reeled off the video feeds from dozens of cameras stationed around the room, playing back to a global audience glued to their screens as the future of magical legislation in America was hammered out on live television.

Bainbridge wanted the session closed, but Britton insisted it be televised live and threatened to go directly to the public if that wish wasn’t granted. Bainbridge acted reluctant, but in the end had acquiesced.
That’s because he knows it plays to his advantage
, Harlequin thought.
We may have beaten back
Scylla, but that doesn’t mean that people are any less terrified of us.

One of the screens behind Bainbridge showed the ongoing rehabilitation of Lower Manhattan, and another showed the fighting in Mescalero, where the tide had begun to turn once the
Limpiados
had turned their attention to the battlefield closer to their border, along with a growing body of Selfers assured that this particular meeting was, finally, really going to happen.

In New York, at least, the smoke had cleared, the battle over. The Breach was still open, surrounded by so much dug-in firepower that it could be turned into a burning cauldron at a moment’s notice.

And the Selfers were still there. In public, for all to see.

Harlequin could feel the tension in the room and imagined it magnified tenfold outside it. The people of the United States could be no more comfortable if some strange army had come to encamp in their collective backyard. What would they do next?

That depended largely on the outcome of these proceedings.

Harlequin looked to Bookbinder and smiled, then across at Britton. The big man nodded back at him, smiling thinly. Their countrymen crowded around them, terrified, wielding authority they couldn’t be sure of, facing a power they didn’t understand, couldn’t control. The lawyers and policy makers, the senior military officers, all looked grave and attentive, bringing the power of the state to bear before the unblinking eye of the television cameras.

But Harlequin pierced that veil now. He saw the fear beneath.
You’re not going to hurt us, are you?
was the message written on each face. This must have been how Scylla saw the world.

But just because he could understand her perspective didn’t mean he shared it. He wasn’t going to hurt them. Because he was part of them. That was the thing about war, wasn’t it? In the end, someone has to be willing to overlook past wrongs, inequalities. In the end, war had to serve peace, to drive forward toward an end state that worked better for everyone.

Otherwise, what were they fighting for?

Britton didn’t trust Bainbridge and his lackeys. Harlequin didn’t either, frankly.

But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t bring about the new order that Scylla had so violently sought.

Harlequin straightened as Bainbridge brought his gavel down and the proceedings began. A room of men and women, Latent and non-Latent, soldier and civilian. Harlequin could feel the fear and tension, could see the agendas boiling below the surface.

But the conversation had started. The issue was on the table, that Latent people were still people. That genie couldn’t be put back in the bottle, no matter what happened.

He turned to listen as Bainbridge read the invocation, and he felt something stir in him that he hadn’t realized had been absent across these long days since he’d arrived in New York City.

Hope.

Appendix

Magic In The Shadow Ops Universe

The Great Reawakening brought magic back into the world, granting people extraordinary powers. Unfortunately, it didn’t also grant an instruction manual, and most of those who ‘came up Latent’ with magical abilities were unable to control them. This culminated in the Bloch Incident, where uncontrolled magic use resulted in the destruction of the Lincoln Memorial and the deaths of thirty-four people. In an effort to prevent future catastrophes, the McGauer-Linden Act created the Reawakening Commission of the US Congress, which designated five ‘authorized’ schools of magic and five ‘prohibited’ schools, otherwise known as ‘Probe’ schools. Certain practices within authorized schools were also prohibited.

Authorized (Legal) Schools

PYROMANCY

Commonly called ‘Fire Magic’, Pyromancy allows the Sorcerer to manipulate flame. Pyromancers can boost and direct existing fires, even start them with a glance. Pyromancers can cast fireballs or cause firestorms. They are primarily employed as fire support for assaults but also assist with clearing vegetation or sanitizing contaminated areas.

People talk about the cleansing properties of fire, like it’s something you’d use to clean your shower. That’s bullshit. Fire’s not a cleanser. Fire is an answer. The question is, who is going to triumph in this struggle? How will this all turn out?

– Lieutenant ‘Ash Trail’ (call sign), SOC Liaison Officer (LNO)/ Pyromantic Assault Team Leader, 1st Armored Division

HYDROMANCY

Commonly called ‘Water Magic’, Hydromancy allows the Sorcerer to manipulate water. Hydromancers can raise or lower water levels, divert the course of existing waterways, and cause moisture in the air to condense into rain. Hydromancers can create and dissolve ice, and employ ‘desiccative’ Hydromancy, which drains a target of water, fatally if necessary. Hydromancers are frequently employed in logistical support roles due to their ability to provide abundant clean water. They also serve as breachers in assault teams due to their ability to freeze and shatter doors and walls. Hydromancers clear swamps, assist troops with fording rivers, and frequently work with Aeromancers to control weather in support of maritime maneuvers.

Remember how everyone used to make fun of Aquaman? The superhero with the lamest power. Well, you just met the real-life Aquaman. You’re not fucking laughing now, are you?

– Major ‘Storm Surge’ (call sign), Executive Officer (XO) SOC ‘Breach and Clear’ Program – Tactical Procedures School