Into the Fire

^{CHAPTER EIGHTEEN}

Stella Vatta had never enjoyed playing courier. Now that she was officially Vatta’s CEO and once more officially a Slotter Key citizen, she found it annoying that both Ky and Aunt Grace expected her to keep shuttling their correspondence back and forth just because neither could leave their respective residences. Adding the sergeant major of Slotter Key’s military to the list of stops made her furious. Grace Vatta, as Rector of Defense, had plenty of personnel at her command; surely she didn’t need to pick on Stella, who had, after all, an interstellar enterprise to run.

She had worked herself into a sizable fury by the time she reached her office, where a man she had not met since they were both teenagers waited in the reception area.

“Benny—Benny Quindlan?”

“Yes, Stella—Sera Vatta, I should say, as this is a business visit, not a social one.” He looked very grown-up, in his business suit with his expensive briefcase and perfectly polished shoes. “I’m sure you didn’t expect a visit from me—”

“No. No, I didn’t.” Why was he here? Was this about the blast that had brought down Vatta’s headquarters six—seven?—years ago? About the trade rivalry that had preceded that? Or… what?

“I would prefer to speak privately,” he said, with a frosty glance at her receptionist.

“Sera Stella, your schedule—” her receptionist said.

“Clear me fifteen minutes,” Stella said. “Benny, come on. Fifteen minutes is literally all I can spare until this evening.”

“Thank you,” he said, without any hint of meekness, and followed her into her office. She was glad in that moment that she had sent the delicate little desk her mother had used back to storage, and found a plain, moderate-sized one instead. She had also changed out the spindly-legged chairs for solid ones that could take a man’s weight without wobbling.

“Have a seat,” she said, going behind her desk. “What is it?”

He sat but did not lean back, hands crossed on top of the briefcase balanced on his thighs. “I am in a difficult position,” he began.

“We all are,” Stella said. The vid-plate on her desk writhed as her receptionist wangled minutes out of a schedule already crowded. He flushed; he’d always had a pink face that reddened easily.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know our families have been competitors and sometimes enemies for a long time. When I learned—when I heard—about the explosives—”

“You were appalled, of course. Get on with it.”

“It’s this.” Without further verbal delay he opened the briefcase and removed a file, which he laid on Stella’s desk. “I now know why our families were enemies. It’s in there. That’s a photographic copy of the file, and if my uncle finds out I’ve given it to you, he will kill me—literally—me and my wife and our twins. If he knew I had entered this building without his explicit order he would terminate my employment and all contact with the family. Luckily, he did order me to enter this building and give you a message from him, which I will in a moment. This”—he laid his hand on the file—“is not his message. This is my—I suppose you could say my atonement for the death of your father. I didn’t know about the explosives until afterward, but I still feel… anyway. This is my uncle’s message, to be delivered word for word.”

He took a deep breath, pulled a sheet from the briefcase, and read from it in an expressionless voice. “If you think this is over, you are wrong. It will never be over until Grace Lane Vatta, that murdering traitorous bitch, is dead, and also every offspring of Stavros Vatta and Gerard Vatta. I have no quarrel with other Vattas, and intend nothing but a measured, appropriate response to what wrongs were done the Quindlan family. I had nothing to do with the offplanet attacks on Vatta; that was their own family. I may hope that Vatta Enterprises collapses, but if some distant cousin can take over, I don’t care. Signed, Michael Quindlan.” Benny Quindlan’s hand shook slightly as he shoved the paper back in his briefcase. “I tried to talk him out of it. I couldn’t. That’s all. I have to go.” He snapped the briefcase closed, stood up, and was almost to the door before Stella could find her voice.

“Benny—”

He stopped and turned. Face professionally blank, but she saw pain in his eyes.

“I don’t hate you, Benny.”

“You may after you read that.”

“No. I won’t. I will fight to live and save my family, but I won’t hate you.”

He nodded without saying anything, opened the door, and let himself out.

Every offspring of Gerard and Stavros. Quindlan had come close before, and killed more than that both at Vatta headquarters and on Corleigh. She and Ky and Jo’s young twins had been the only survivors, and now Quindlan was still determined to kill them all. But maybe not Toby, if she could trust that—and why should she? Except that the note had sounded desperate, like someone at the end of his strength, determined to finish something he’d promised to accomplish long ago. And her job, her one job now, was to see that she and Ky and the twins stayed alive until… could any truce last, even if one could be negotiated? And then it dawned on her: she was not an offspring of Stavros Vatta. Would the Quindlans believe her? Not Michael, she was sure. He gave the orders others followed; his sending Benny was an unsubtle signal that the boy who’d once had a crush on her was now his uncle’s obedient servant.

Her assistant pinged her. Whatever was in the file Benny had delivered would have to wait; she had a long day’s work ahead of her already. She put the file into her private safe and put a serene smile on her face for her first scheduled appointment.

Midmorning she did manage to call the house and let Ky know that the Quindlans were still dangerous and after blood.

“So am I,” Ky said. “If I knew whether they were involved in the military thing—”

“Never mind that. Is Sera Lane there?”

“Yes. She’s frustrated that she can’t get downloads from the others’ implants.”

“If she’s not busy, ask her to come here—and bring Rodney—because I have something I want her to see that I can’t talk about even over a secured line.”

“Don’t shut me out—”

“I’m not. She can take it back with her. Less obviously than I can send a courier.”

“I’ll tell her.” Ky switched off.

Stella rolled her eyes and made a face at her desk before heading to the conference room for her next appointment.

Ky had spent the morning working on her own rescue plan—much of it on the organization she knew they needed. It had all been casual up to now, but the mission itself would be anything but. She used what she had learned talking to all the others—especially Teague, Rafe, and Rodney—and had just finished some organizational charts when Stella called. Ky gave Sera Lane and Rodney their orders, then went into the kitchen, where the two women were busy helping Barash with the prep for the rest of the day’s cooking.

Despite their continuing peril, they looked relaxed and cheerful as they worked and chatted, each with a cutting board and knife and stack of vegetables. Chairs scraped as Ky appeared; she waved them down. “The lawyer’s gone off to Vatta headquarters; she may be there all day, but she’ll still be working on our problems.” She pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. “Rodney’s gone with her. Something’s going on with the Rector and the sergeant major; I expect Rodney to come back with some useful information.”

“How much longer do we have?” Kamat asked. The swelling in her face had gone down, and with a scarf wrapped around her head, her exotic beauty showed again.

“Not long. It’s time for more detailed planning. When you’re through here, after lunch, we’ll go downstairs and get started on the next phase.”

Rafe came into the kitchen, poured himself some water, and leaned on the counter. “We’re discussing tactics finally?”

“About to,” Ky said. “We’ve got the skeleton plan, all but where to take them after we’ve got them. And it’s time”—past time; she should have done this earlier—“to compartmentalize, let each one concentrate on a particular area of responsibility. Communications, surveillance, transport, medical, assault teams, local and community support, countermeasures.”

“There’s not that many of us,” Rafe said. “You know we need more people.”

“Yes. And the sergeant major is working on that with Aunt Grace. Each subunit will have a contact person, a leader. Just one. Only the leader will know who else is in the unit. Inyatta, you have relatives in the region we’re going to. You are the liaison for local support there. Rodney has connections with local militia; he’ll be the liaison for those personnel; everything they need to do will come from him. And so on: I made charts.”

“Based on what?” Rafe asked.

“On what we know so far. We can’t expect the charts to cover everything yet, but they’ll help us analyze what else we need to know.”

“I need to know how to get more ammunition,” Rafe said.

“Done,” Ky said. “Rodney knows a supplier; he’ll arrange that. Just be sure he knows what you need.” She looked at the women again. “One thing I need to know—and forgot to ask before—is how long it took you to recover from the drugs. How soon could you walk steadily across a room, or use stairs?”

The three looked at one another. “I don’t know,” Inyatta said after a moment. “I can’t remember what it was like when we first got there, at all. I know that right after we escaped, we had trouble—our balance was off, we were shaky. If we hadn’t been so scared, we couldn’t have made it even a kilometer. If we hadn’t found a place to hide until that wore off, we’d have been caught for sure.”

“So… those we rescue may not be able to walk from one vehicle to another,” Ky said.

“They might be unconscious,” Rafe said.

“Takes more staff to ensure they don’t choke,” Ky said. “But basically, we can’t count on any help from them—we have to be prepared to unload and load them.”

“If the others are rescued, I’m sure they’ll try to help,” Kamat said. “But how can we possibly help them while we’re stuck in this house?”

“One way or another, we aren’t going to stay here,” Ky said. “Even if we have to climb the back garden wall and crawl down it the way you did getting in. But I’m hoping Sera Lane will get Rafe, Teague, and me set straight with Immigration—then we can get out more easily. You three—you can’t be risked; if our mission fails, you’re the only ones who can testify to what happened to you, and them.”

“I wonder if the media could help,” Rafe said. Ky turned to stare, and he waved a hand at her. “No, listen. Right now the other side has a secret they want kept. What if rumors got out that such a secret existed—”

“They’d kill them,” Ky and the others said, voices clashing with intensity.

“I don’t think so,” Rafe said. “That many deaths are hard to hide. What if the question came from some of the family members? They haven’t been allowed to see their loved ones—even if they’re in the throes of a bad plague, they should at least be allowed to see them, talk to the doctors, all that. Betange has dependent siblings—there’s a tear-jerking story for you. For them. Kind of thing they love. Who’s taking care of those kids now?”

“But the rules—someone has to be suppressing the news about them already—”

“It’s too juicy a story,” Rafe said. “After all, they were willing to buck the system to embarrass the Academy ten years ago. As long as it’s from the families, not anyone here in Port Major. We can use Teague to make contact.”

“You called?” Teague said from the doorway.

“We’re into the detailed planning now. I’m thinking if we tickled the families of the other survivors—even yours—” Rafe looked from one face to another. “—they might be willing to complain publicly about the lack of information and contact. And that might attract media attention, and be a cover for our own fact-finding and actions.”

“Have you finalized the other necessary parts of the operation while I was downstairs picking satellite images?”

“Some,” Ky said. “I charted a command structure this morning, and tentative assignments for everyone. We know how many other survivors—if they’re all still alive—and where they’ll be taken, but I don’t know even how many vehicles—trucks, vans, ambulances?—we would need, or the medical staffing. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever done—”

“But I have,” Teague reminded her, calm in the face of her temper. “If this were Gary’s org, we’d want the information I was bringing, plus at least three hostage rescue teams. Rafe saw Gary’s in action. We don’t have those connections here, but I’ve been talking to Rodney about some of his friends. And since these are actual military we’re planning to deal with, I will bet that some other enlisted—not part of the scheme—would be eager to help their comrades.”

“Probably,” Barash said, with a glance at Inyatta, “except that we’re taught to follow orders. Most would just push it up the chain of command, and how do we know the top of the chain isn’t corrupt?”

“Ex-military, then?” Teague asked.

“Maybe—probably,” Inyatta said. “But we three—we don’t know that many ex-enlisted. I don’t, anyway.”

“Sergeant Major Morrison does,” Ky said. “She may have friends among them with the skills we need. We need to see her again.”

“She’s being surveilled,” Teague reminded them.

“Teague, can you give me a list? Everything your employer would use for something like this?”

“Show me your charts; I can probably fill in some things.”

Lunch wasn’t mentioned again. They all moved downstairs to the bunker, and Teague began talking. “Pre-zero: survey the relevant locations, decide on the ideal place for the snatch. Make an educated guess—with Gary it’s often certainty—about the force the other side has. Arrange for the extrication teams, post-extrication extraction from the location, and post-extraction medical and other care needs in a secure location. Slotter Key doesn’t have nearly the surveillance that Nexus Two has, but in this instance we’re talking about countering an official force, which is different and likely will have excellent surveillance.”

“Say—three or four survivors to extricate, possibly unable to ambulate or talk.”

“Mobile or static situation?”

“Mobile—we wouldn’t have to break into a facility.”

“Okay—you need a convincing reason for the vehicle to have to stop, something they won’t immediately suspect, so they don’t call for help or start shooting right away. Do you want to kill people or not?”

Ky stared a moment. She had considered Teague a neutral civilian, not a criminal. Now she wondered. “Um—would prefer not to kill anyone we don’t have to.”

“Then you need a knockdown drug and delivery system. Can be conventional-looking firearms, if your crew has a reason to carry them, or another method. A way of breaking into the vehicles they’re using. A way of moving your survivors—if they can’t walk, or if they’re partially ambulatory and might struggle. Two to a survivor. Plus whoever’s gaining control of the vehicle. If they’re on movable gurneys, that’s handy; you just unlatch them and go.”

He stopped; Ky said nothing, and he started again. “The slickest of all, though I can’t think how we’d coordinate that over the several holding facilities, is to replace the vehicle that’s supposed to transport them with our vehicle. Would work in a vid, maybe, but probably not in practice.”

“It might for one of them,” Rafe said.

“Morrison says they’re coming from different places, different directions. So they’ll be using multiple vehicles. We know there’s just one road in—” Ky scowled at the table, thinking hard. “They still want to keep this under wraps—someone still thinks it’s possible to keep control of the knowledge about Miksland. For all we know they’ve moved their people back in.”

“That’s not going to work long-term,” Teague said. “Both sets of mercs know about it, and I doubt either set will obey a nondisclosure agreement even if they signed one. Every soldier who trained down there knows about it. Eventually it’s bound to leak out—”

“And they should know that. Someone on that side should know that; they aren’t stupid or they’d have made bad mistakes before.” Ky took a breath as another possibility came to her. “They do know it, and they don’t expect the secrecy to hold forever, just long enough for—for something else. Whatever—” She paused again, then spoke as the idea came clear. “Whatever Greyhaus and those troops were training for. What do you want a secret military force for?” She looked around.

“A war,” Inyatta said. “They were going to start a war? Why?”

“The usual reason is to overthrow the government,” Rafe said. “But why?”

“And when?” Ky said. “If they’re aiming to start a war and need to keep it secret until they’re ready, then the survivors are definitely in their way.” She pushed that issue aside. “Teague, let’s get back to the actual mission planning.”

“So how many people are we trying to rescue?” Teague asked.

“Fourteen, if they all survived. Seventeen should have come back, and three escaped to us.”

“Do we know how many are in each place now?”

“Yes, from Morrison’s report. And she’s bringing more information later today.”

“And where will we be transporting them? Remember, some of them, if not all, will need medical care within a few hours.”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You forget,” Stella said from the doorway, “that you have one asset you haven’t mentioned yet.”

Ky had not heard her come in. “You’re home early.”

“Aunt Grace had a message for you—here.” She handed over a datastick and a large envelope. “Sergeant Major Morrison is with me, waiting in the hall. She wants to talk to you. And—as I said—there’s an asset you hadn’t mentioned.”

Ky blinked. “What?”

“Vatta Transport. We and our associates have a planet-wide transportation network—from way back—with trucks, vans, ships, and aircraft constantly on the move. You need to track only four vehicles to find the survivors—they’d have to track thousands of ours.”

“Yes, but—”

“On this continent alone, we have warehouses in every city bigger than a hundred thousand, and in some smaller ones where it’s convenient to us. At every good-sized airport, we transfer air cargo to ground transport and vice versa. The attack on Vatta concentrated on our headquarters and our space-based transport, but when I finally made it back here I discovered that our air, sea, and ground network had lost only ten percent of its capacity. And we’re back to that and above now.”

“But we don’t have ambulances, do we?”

“No. But you don’t have to have an ambulance. How about fitting out one or two of the larger trucks as a mobile clinic? Beds, if you like, or float chairs, or just comfortable furniture. Toilets. We can use regularly scheduled trucks for some of it, just claim that a particular run is oversold, and put another truck on for the deliveries. We’ve done that before.”

Ky looked puzzled. “But I thought you felt this was all—ridiculous. I didn’t think you’d want to help.”

“Of course I want to help. I don’t want any of you killed for lack of resources—” She looked at each in turn. “And it’ll cost less than renting vehicles, won’t it?” She nodded, looking satisfied at their reaction. “I can’t stay—I have appointments downtown.”

When Morrison joined the group, briefcase in hand, she had more than just the data in the packages Grace had sent. “I’ve spoken with the base commander—and here’s why I felt that important.”

After the first shock—like jumping into a snowbank—Ky understood her reasons.

“And you needed a way to get these personnel back into safe military hands,” Morrison said, finishing her report. “Trying to hide them somewhere would have created legal problems for everyone involved, military and civilian. I am certain that General Molosay is not part of the conspiracy. When he realized the danger to the survivors of organizing a purely military op, he agreed I could liaise with you and granted the use of three full special ops teams.”

Ky nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant Major. That will be a huge help.”

Morrison turned to Inyatta. “Corporal, I have new IDs for you, Corporal Barash, and Tech Kamat. Uniforms should arrive in Rector Vatta’s apartment by late afternoon, so that you can appear—if you are on the op or not—in your own identities. If you are not part of the op, General Molosay wants you to report to his office on base; transportation can be arranged.” She opened her briefcase and handed out the ID packets. “Welcome home.”

Ky could see the emotion on their faces; she felt a lump in her own throat. “Thank you, Sergeant Major,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

“My orders are to accompany the first group coming back to Port Major, by whatever means, so I will need to be at whatever collection point you’ve established. Do you have that information yet?”

“Vatta Transport will be providing transportation,” Ky said. “I’d like to fly each group out from the nearest airport—that seems fastest and most secure.”

“Weekes City,” Rodney put in. “Vatta has regular air freight to and from a ground transport warehouse there. Frequent flights in different sizes of aircraft.”

“It will be very soon—as early as tomorrow, no more than three days,” Morrison said. “The Rector said she was sure you could be ready by then.”

“We can,” Ky said, “if we finish the planning now. You can help, if you will.”

“Of course.”

From there the plan moved quickly.

“Only one way in or out—we want to snatch them before that dead end,” Teague said. “You want multiple exits—here’s a useful branch, and here as well. Somewhere between three and ten kilometers back. We could even pick up the group coming from the east all the way back here, before they get to that last road.”

“You’re assuming that air transport will be safe,” Morrison said, tapping her finger on that line of the plan.

“They can reach Port Major in four hours,” Ky said. “And the first group, at least, will be unexpected.”

“Admiral, with respect, there are two air bases between Weekes City and here, and General Molosay, in our conversation, expressed some concerns. Nothing strong enough to act on, but if you met air surveillance or interference—or an air attack on ground movement—”

“And if they figure out which plane,” Ky said, nodding. “Vatta planes, like any civilian planes, are unarmed and slower than military interceptors.”

“The Joint Services Headquarters has no assets to contribute for that,” Morrison said.

Rodney spoke up. “Remember I told you about my friends out in that region? They’re all in reserve units. Access to lots of toys that just sit around gathering dust except in summer training. Do ’em good to get some use.” Morrison opened her mouth, but shut it again.

“You contact them,” Ky said to Rodney. “It’s your show and I hope we don’t need it.”

“The only problem we have left,” Teague said, as the patchwork of assets grew larger and more connected, “is a way to make their transports stop long enough for us to get the prisoners—survivors, sorry—out of the vehicles without their people killing them. Faking an accident is the usual way to block a road, but that takes more personnel and vehicles. And we’d have to do it again for each group.”

Inyatta held up her hand. “I can do that. Admiral Vatta’s given me responsibility for local response because I have relatives in that area. They know people… if you’d trust me to tell them and get them involved.”

“It’d be dangerous for them,” Rafe said.

“They wouldn’t mind that,” Inyatta said. “They’ll want to help. And so will their neighbors, at least some of them.”

“Do you have any idea how it might work?” Teague still sounded dubious.

“It’s Inyatta’s call,” Ky said. “You don’t need to know. Our drivers will know what to expect, as soon as we have better intel on the trucks or ambulances they’re using.”

“The group from Clemmander will be first,” Morrison said. “Then the one coming in from coastward.”

Rodney and Teague moved markers around on the terrain display, each one colored for a particular group.

Hours later, tired and hungry, the group had a plan both Ky and Teague thought was workable, with branches to allow for the unexpected. Inyatta, Barash, and Kamat, with Morrison’s approval and assistance, had overcome Ky’s reservations about having them part of the actual rescue.

“They can return with me and the first group,” Morrison said. “You’ll be with them, and then I will.”

“If nobody shoots at the plane,” Ky said.

“You told Rodney to take care of that,” Morrison said.

Ky laughed. “So I did. And he will.”

Now they needed to fill all the blank slots in the personnel chart, but Morrison was sure she could find reliable medical assistance and had enough special troops. Ky looked at the terrain map again and again, zooming in and out, jotting down notes for ever more ways to react depending on what happened. She knew she could not possibly anticipate everything—but the more she did anticipate, the better their chances for getting everyone out alive.

Morrison spent the night in the house, and rode into town with Stella in the morning. Ky, watching from her vantage point in the front of the house, saw that the neighbor across the street was strolling around his front yard, poking a stick into flower beds, but in a perfect position to notice how many people were in each of the cars that led or followed Stella. Ky noticed several quick, upward glances toward the window where she stood. Altogether too nosy a neighbor, and she wondered again why Stella didn’t seem worried about him.

She’d spoken to Stella about the coming operation—that if they had to leave suddenly, she wouldn’t call at the time, for security reasons.

“Are the others going with you?” Stella’d asked.

“Probably not, but they might. I’d rather not risk them, but they want to come.”

“But not tomorrow—”

“I don’t think so. More likely a day or two more. We could use the time.”