Fade to Black

12

The door to Condo 9-B shot open just in front of Rico's face. He stepped through and aside, dropping into a crouch. Shank followed. That was just being careful. Bandit reported the condo empty except for the master bedroom.

Two occupants. One male, one female.

Their target had company tonight, and that was no surprise. The corps could be real generous with perks. If Surikov had lacked the means or just the plain luck to find some companionship on his' own, the corp would probably provide whatever kind he required. That was how the corps worked. Threaten your spouse if you don't do the job and serve up whores when you did. Whatever got them what they wanted. That was it,

The bedroom door snapped open. Shank went first and Rico followed. A hazy, orange-tinted light surrounded the bed like a veil. Two bodies moved there. Rico's vision overlays showed him the contours of the bodies right through the veil of light and the liquid satin bedsheets. Male on top, female below.

Even as Rico brought his Ares to bear, the female looked right at him, gaped, and put a hand to her throat Rico saw the movement and guessed what it meant, but there was no way to stop her without risking hitting the man on top of her.

He couldn't risk the shot A soft bell-tone sounded. Red strips running up the corners of the room flared red. "A security condition has been initialized," a hushed female voice announced quietly from somewhere near the ceiling. "Remain calm. If this is an actual emergency, do nothing. Security personnel are responding. Do not be alarmed. If you have initialized a security condition in error, please dial one-one-one and identify yourself to the security supervisor." The slitch on the bed was wearing some kind of PANICBUTTON around her neck. Now she smiled as if self-satisfied. The male looked back over his shoulder, jerked with surprise, and rolled off the female. "Three," Rico said.

Dok moved to the bed, put a burst injector to the female's leg, and fired. The slitch exclaimed, then went limp. Rico pointed the muzzle of the Ares at the male. "Identify."

The man looked about fifty, distinguished, thinning hair and close-trimmed beard stained with gray. Some extra weight around the middle. Not a big man. Not a small one either. He gasped, drew a couple of panting breaths, stammered, "Surikov… Ansell Surikov…" He stole a glance toward the female, eyes wide with uncertainty, fear. "What is this? I insist…"

The vocal stress analyzer on Rico's commando-style watchband pegged too wildly for a good reading. The slag was really worked up. Rico nodded at Dok, who started making his checks, a quick retina print and DNA scan. The checks weren't foolproof, just the best they could do under the circumstances. The correct patterns had come with L. Kahn's chip dossier. Running the checks took about half a minute. "We're positive," Dok said. Rico nodded at Surikov and said, "Who's the Garden?" Surikov eyebrows jumped. He blurted, "That's my wife! How…" A Garden of Earthly Delights. A private thing, Rico knew, between Surikov and his wife. He knew that from the chip dossier provided by L. Kahn.

"How do you know-!"

"We're here to take you home, Dr. Surikov," Rico said, lowering his Ares. "Home to your wife."

Surikov stared at Rico for several long moments, then rubbed a hand over his mouth and made an obvious effort to get hold of himself.

"You wanna go, right?"

Surikov hesitated, then nodded and said, "Just tell me how to proceed."

Rico pulled a pack from his belt, broke it open, and shook it out. A bright orange jumpsuit with built-in plastic shoes, all in Surikov's sizes. "Put this on. Make it fast."

While Surikov was doing that, Dok checked him out again. "Vitals're okay. You on medication?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Let's do it," Rico said.

Bandit ran his eyes around the living room. The furnishings put forth a character of luxury and fine living, but that was a lie. The walls, drapes, sofas, carpet, the onyx sculptures and semi-holographic pics were all dead, made of plastic and other artificial, materials. There was nothing of life here except for the power and water running through the walls, and that was the vague clue to the truth about this room. It was not a fine space for living, as it might appear, but rather a plastic container for corporate slaves, a sort of coffin, really. Just a bit over-sized.

There was nothing of value here, except possibly Surikov. Bandit turned to watch Rico and Dok hustling the scientist up the hall and into the living room. Surikov was worth a lot of money. That might buy valuable things.

Bandit slipped a hand into one of the pockets inside his coat. His fingers found a small silver figurine, like a man made of wicker. Something that might have value for a druid or a witch. It had no value for him and so he placed it on the small platinum-hued table at the end of a sofa. He would leave it in place of Surikov. The little wicker man. A fair exchange.

"Five, move it!" Rico ordered.

Bandit nodded understanding.

Five was his assigned namecode.

Through the apartment to the hallway door, Rico hustled Surikov along at a brisk walk, but the man's physical condition was a problem. He wasn't young and he didn't exercise-that was in the dossier, too. He'd probably survive the stresses of the next few minutes, but anything might happen if he had to get really athletic. The plan was to avoid pushing the slag too hard until there was no other option.

"Time is zero-one-three-four," Piper reported via radiolink. That meant security forces were responding. Rico didn't need to be told. The voice still droning from the ceiling kept him keenly aware of the time trickling away and the danger, getting more real every second.

As Rico reached the door to the hallway, Thorvin's saucer-shaped drone shot off toward the end of the hall opposite the elevators. Shank and Filly dropped into combat crouches. Rico glimpsed the door at the end of the hall swinging open, and the sudden, dazzling flashes of the flare-strobes mounted on Thorvin's drone. Rico turned Surikov toward the elevators. A stun grenade detonated to their rear. Rico hoped it was from the drone.

Elevator Three West now waited in line with the floor, doors wide open. Rico let Dok hustle Surikov onto the elevator, then turned to look back down the hall.

The drone's strobes were flashing. Another stun grenade banged, and some slag in a uniform staggered back through the doorway by the stairs. Rico took aim on that doorway, Shank and Filly came charging up the hall and past his shoulders. The instant they passed by, he turned and dove onto the elevator, and the elevator doors slid shut.

The drone would be left behind to delay and confuse on-site security forces. It was expendable.

The elevator rose.

Surikov was breathing hard and looking worried. Dok checked him again and burst-injected something into his arm. "Stay calm," Dok said. "We've done this before."

"I'm afraid I haven't!" Surikov blurted. "Tune is zero-one-three-six," Piper reported. That meant trouble. Maas Intertech had security forces on-site, but they were lightweights. The real trouble would come from outside. Kuze Nihon maintained a unit called Daisaka Security, and Daisaka's rapidresponse teams provided a back-up umbrella for all of Kuze Nihon's subsidiaries in the Jersey-New York megaplex, including Maas Intertech. Those teams, commando-trained and equipped, would be only minutes in arriving. Rico wanted to be long gone by then.

Daisaka's uniformed forces wore flash that featured the likeness of the black annis ape, a very territorial creature who was known to overturn cars before ripping them to pieces.

The elevator slowed to a halt at the fourteenth floor. The doors slid open. A pair of men in light gray security uniforms stood there, right outside the elevator. For an instant the guards just frowned, but then abruptly reached for their sidearms. Shank and Filly's autos thumped simultaneously. Both guards fell.

Rico led the group out of the elevator and cut a sharp left. The door beside the elevator opened onto a narrow stairway that led directly to the roof.

Down out of the hazy orange dark of the night came an olive-green Hughes Stallion chopper running without lights.

They loaded up quick.