Watch Dogs: Dark Clouds

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Garnet was a man with his face and head so covered with tattoos it was difficult to identify his ethnicity. He was a blue-and-red man now. He had a ring through his nose and a small shark’s tooth through each earlobe. Garnet had defiant dark brown-black eyes, a sweatshirt with an obscure cryptogram on the front, almost like a superhero’s chest symbol; there were copper clasps on his Maori tattooed forearms.

Actually, Garnet was laughing at the whole world’, because Wolfe, who was on the roof of the old tenement, was seeing Garnet on the PearcePhone’s screen… and he was seeing a frozen digital image Garnet used for trusted contacts. That is, relatively trusted contacts.

Suddenly the animated image moved. “What do you want?” came ’Garnet’s voice. The image looked at Wolfe with Max Headroom cynical inquisitiveness.

“I don’t know if you remember me, last time it was just texts, my name is—”

“I know who you are, Wolfe,” the animation interrupted. “I can see you. ”And I used my own system to I.D. you. You’re ex-military. Army special forces. With your technical training, I figure you’re one of those scumbags who blow up kids with drones.”

Wolfe controlled his temper. “I only hit targets that we knew were… never mind. You want to talk to me or not?”

“Why should I?”

“I need a connection.”

“This won’t be free, if I decide to do it. Far from free.” Garnet told him.

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, Wolfe, I’m not fucking kidding you. You got it or not?”

“Why am I looking at an animation of you?”

“Because it’s better security for reasons I don’t care to explain. Especially to an ex-military geek like you.”

“From what I’ve heard, your hands aren’t so clean either.”

“Wolfe—fuck off.”

“Wait a minute. I’ll meet your price.”

“Okay. I’m transmitting an account you can wire the money to. One of many. So don’t get cute with it.”

“What am I going to get cute for?”

“Just make the transfer. Then check back with me in the morning. I’ll see if I can set you up.”

“This sounds like an act of faith to me. How doI know you’ll come through after I transfer the money?”

“You don’t. You want the deal or not?”

Wolfe growled to himself. “Yeah, yeah. Send the info.”

“I already did.”

The screen went black.

Wolfe sighed.

Time to go raid some more drug dealers—and their ATM accounts.

There was someone following her.

Seline had changed wigs and coats, gotten a different style of shades, changed her makeup again. She now wore a red wig, with a white plastic scarf over it. But she wasn’t confident of her disguise.

If someone was following her, it must be that someone had seen through it.

She was walking along the Loop, under the elevated train tracks. The sky had clouded up, that evening, and snow came down in fits and starts, slipping between the train tracks. The air vibrated, and then she heard the thrumming of an approaching L Train. The train rumbled over. A truck rumbled past, underneath it, like one great beast calling to another.

She thought, If that guy who’s walking up behind me for three blocks isn’t following me, he probably won’t turn when I do. If I turn and he does, I should confront him. Better that than being shot in the back.

Seline turned at the corner, walking away from the Loop. Here the snow was falling a little more heavily. She got to the next corner, glanced back—and saw the guy turn the corner. He was a white guy with a hoodie. Hard to see much else about him from here.

One more chance, pal, she thought.

On the corner was a flashy-looking restaurant. She entered its noise, went to the ’bar, and sat down. “Menu?” asked the bartender, trying not to stare at her. She saw in the bar mirror her wig was crooked.

“Yeah, sure, menu,” she said. “And a glass of Chardonnay.”

When he turned away, she straightened out her wig. “That wig’s too cheap to make a good disguise,” said the man sitting down beside her. “It’s conspicuous. Crooked or not.”

It was the guy who’d been following her.

Seline put her hand on her purse, where her gun was.

“Garnet sent me,” he said, accepting a menu from the bartender. “I’m buying, by the way. I’m gonna get a steak. I’m hungry. Haven’t had a decent meal in a while. Just canned crap mostly.” He glanced at the menu. “I’ll have the T-Bone steak medium rare, and a whiskey and soda. And a glass of water.”

“Yes sir.” The bartender looked at Seline.

She shrugged. “Uh… the… Caesar salad.”

“You got it, ma’am.”

Wolfe looked at Seline. “ So—about our mutual friend, Garnet.’”

“Oh—I forgot. Um… ‘I’ll take my pain…’”

She stared now. Finally she said, “‘…in the shade.’”

I’ll take my pain in the shade was a lyric from the Screaming Geezers—and it was the code that DedSec had given them so they’d know one another.

“Sorry,” he said. “On your end it’s just DedSec. I had to go through some other people to talk to them.”

She stared at him. Lean, good looking guy. There was a certain iciness in his eyes, despite his warm smile, that made her sure he was capable of killing people. He could be with the wrong side. He could be with the bunch who’d killed GlowWorm.

The waiter brought their drinks. When he reached for his, the movement exposed his forearm. US Army.

“You going to tell me your name?” she asked.

He hesitated. Then he said, “Mick Wolfe.”

She blinked. “Push that hoodie back.”

He did. She got a better look at him. “I guess you are.”

“You’ve seen me before.”

“In her file.”

“Medina’s file?”

“Yeah. Ruth Medina.”

He nodded slowly. “That would be me.”

She swallowed. “Sorry to suspect you—but I was told I was going to meet the person another block from here in about half an hour.”

“That’s where I was going. But…” She had the impression he had started to say someone’s name, and decided not to. “…a friend of mine was watching. Through the cameras. He’s not with ctOS. He just… uses them. He worked out who you were. So I just went for it. I’ve gotten kind of leery about pre-arranged meetings.”

“Me too,” she said, thinking about GlowWorm. Which brought up a memory of the footbridge. His getting shot down in mid-sentence. Falling at her feet…

Seline closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about it…

“This actually is a pretty good place to meet,” Wolfe said. “Seeing as it’s not where we’d planned. And it’s noisy in here.”

She looked at him. “You think they might be listening to us, even here?”

“I’ve lost all confidence in privacy anywhere in this town,” Wolfe said.

“I know what you mean.” She glanced in the mirror, feeling an adrenalized surge from sheer paranoia. Everyone passing who looked toward her seemed to be watching her.

But maybe it was this wig…

“I gotta get a new wig.”

He smiled and said, “DedSec going to come through for us?”

“They say they are. But… they don’t want to upload it themselves. They’ve got it on some laptop. They’re going to give that to us—and we’re supposed to take it somewhere secure. Then it goes up on SystemsLeak.”

“They’re almost as paranoid as I am.”

“They’ve got reason. One of their people was just shot down. Sniper.”

“That’s bad. I hate snipers. Unless they’re on my side.” He looked her over. “Way you were walking, something about you… You ex-military too?”

She nodded. “Marines. Mostly working on a flattop. Just got out not long ago.”

“And that’s how you knew Medina?”

She nodded.

After a moment he added, “I never thought of her as Ruth. She was base CIA Liaison Medina to me. I figured that was just another way of saying field agent.”

“You know she’s dead?”

“I heard. My friend did some research on my case. Her name came up. He checked her out. They claimed it was accidental drowning.”

“You believe that?”

“No. Where do we get this laptop?”

“Not here. DedSec set up a drop at the train station…”

“Here’s your steak, sir,” said the bartender. “And the lady’s Caesar salad.”

They ate in silence. She mostly picked at hers. The blood oozing when Wolfe cut into his steak made her queasy. She was still trying too hard not to think about the blood on the footbridge…

Verrick stood by the concrete wall above the boat ramp, with his fists balled into his heavy overcoat, a powder-blue felt hat pulled down over his head against the night-time wind-sheer off Lake Michigan. The rattling of the chains pulling the Silverado up the boat ramp was getting on his nerves. He dug in an inside coat pocket, and found a pill. He was trying not to take the Oxycodone but…

Mick Wolfe was getting on his last nerve.

The big crane creaked on the industrial-sized tow truck—designed to pull overturned semi-trucks upright on the freeway—and it froze. The men in blue coveralls went down to look at it. The big four-door pickup that Wolfe had rolled into the lake was halfway out of the water, oozing water and muck. Verrick could see that the leather interior he’d had custom made was immersed in murky water.

“That son of a bitch,” he muttered.

The cops arrived, a patrol car and an unmarked Crown Victoria. The patrolmen got out, and went down to talk to the workmen. Verrick looked over at Tranter who was coming over to stand at his side.

“That yours?” Tranter asked.

“That’s what the police report says, Tranter. Stolen truck. And that’s my truck. Perp, Mick Wolfe. So why hasn’t anyone arrested him?”

“You said before you didn’t want an all points bulletin on him. We could put his name up on television news, call him a mad dog, the whole shebang.”

“It’s tempting. But can you count on Wolfe not talking to the wrong people when he’s arrested? Can you count on every cop who picks him up to deal with him our way?”

“Hell no. Who knows what Wolfe’ll do if they pick him up. And you haven’t got the whole department on your payroll. We can’t count on any of that.”

“Then… I’ll just push harder to locate him through ctOS. We find him, we’ll get the right people out there.”

Verrick watched moodily as water started streaming out of the Silverado as they got up on the back of the towtruck.

He sighed. “Not the top best truck out there but I loved that thing. I’m going to put him in what’s left of it and set him on fire.”

“Smarter to just shoot him first chance.”

“Don’t tell me what’s smarter, dammit!”

Tranter’s face went grim. “You don’t own me, Verrick. I am not your little abused dog, like that Starling character. Don’t push it.”

Verrick returned the look. “What have you done for me lately, Tranter? Nothing much. What am I paying for?”

“Tell you something. Things are getting hot around you. You want me to work on this—you double my paycheck.”

“What!”

“You heard me.”

Verrick privately vowed to put Tranter in that burning truck with Wolfe when he got a chance. But he said, “Fine. Just get it done. Get Mick Wolfe.”

The Hawk was ripping down South Canal Street as Wolfe and Seline walked hunched over, against it.

The Union Station with its dignified Beaux Arts face, was just up ahead. “You sure the station’s still open at this hour?” Seline asked. Her voice was somewhat muffled under the wool scarf she had bought. It covered half her face. She now had a blue scarf in place of a wig, and no sunglasses.

“Of course it is.” He glanced at her. “That’s a better disguise. Just cover the whole damn face up.”

“It wouldn’t work inside. It’d call attention to me. Maybe I should get a burka.”

“Maybe you should. But not in a train station.”

“You don’t disguise yourself. You’re not worried about ctOS?”

“Not too much. I’ve got some hardware on me that transmits to their camera. Disguises me.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Where’d you get that? At Radio Shack?”

“Got it from a friend. Tell you about him some other time. If it turns out I can trust you.”

“Wolfe, I’m the one who should be worried about trust around here…”

“Are you? You could be some kind of federal agent looking for my friend. Van Ness could’ve pulled some strings…”

They had gotten to the Union Station entrance, and Wolfe was glad to go in. His face was going numb in the cold wind.

Inside, faces tingling in the renewed warmth, they found their way to the Great Hall. A lot of the ticket booths were closed, but that’s not what they were here for.

A discontented-looking black-clad hipster with a soul patch was slumped on a wooden bench by the door, clutching his luggage to him. On other benches were a number of homeless—one of them, hunched under a broad brimmed hat, looked familiar to Wolfe…

They clopped across the Great Hall, the big room echoing their footsteps in a way that made Wolfe edgy. They were right out in the open here. He remembered that sniper that Seline had mentioned.

“He said someone would recognize us,” Seline whispered.

“I know who it is… I think. Seems like he works for more people than I knew.”

He led the way over to Blank but was careful not to look at Blank directly. He cleared his throat as he walked past, and in his peripheral vision was aware that Blank looked up. He led Seline about thirty steps past Blank they sat down on the facing bench.

“Gotta rest my legs,” he said.

He looked up at the cameras on the columns of the ornate room, then looked at his feet. After a few moments he took the device out of his coat pocket that Pearce had given him—the one that looked like a remote control. “Here,” he said, handing it do her. “I found this. If you ever get a TV you can control it.”

She pulled the woolen scarf down, glanced at him in brief puzzlement, then took the device and put it in a pocket.

He caught a motion in the corner of his eye, saw Blank getting up, walking out. Under the bench, where Blank had been sitting, was a plastic bag. Wolfe kept an indirect watch on the bag, making himself sit there for a couple minutes.

Maybe too long, he thought. Seline has her face exposed.

Wolfe got up, and Seline followed him over to the plastic bag. He acted like he’d just seen it. “Hey, that old guy left this bag… maybe it’s worth something…” He picked it up, looked in it. A laptop taped up in bubble wrap. He shrugged and carried the bag to a side exit from the building.

When they were in a secure hallway just before the exit door, Seline whispered, “It’s in the bag?”

“It’s there.”

“What’s with the TV remote?”

“Not what it looks like. It’ll blot out your face, on a block by block basis, when you go into the range of the ctOS camera.”

“It’ll work for you too?”

“I’ve got a different device. Just remember to press the button on yours every time you cross a street.”

“I won’t need this scarf on my face?”

“Couldn’t hurt to have it.”

She put the scarf back up and they went out into the cold. “Now where?” she asked.

“Should be some kind of instructions when we boot it up. Find a safe place to do that. I’ve got a safehouse. You may as well use it too.”

He could feel her looking at him in a “what are you up to, male?” sort of way.

“I won’t manhandle you there,” he said.

“You mean you won’t handle me at all. No touching.”

“You’ve got a high opinion of yourself.” He flinched inwardly, wishing as soon as he said it that he hadn’t put it that way. She was an attractive woman. He didn’t want to make her feel sneered at.

“I was on a Navy ship for a long time,” she said, unruffled. “I learned to set boundaries.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.” Wolfe was walking briskly south, Seline taking two steps for each of his long strides. He was trying to decide what the best way to get to the safehouse was. Steal another car? He had been doing too much of that. Every time was a risk. Maybe if he got one from a storage lot, where it wouldn’t be reported for a while.

Something made him turn and glance back. A gray van was driving along the street, back there, a little too slowly. “Turn right here,” he told her, as they approached the corner. “Then we cut across the traffic—fast.”

“What’s going down?”

“Not sure. You see action when you were in the corps?”

“You mean, did I ever kill anybody?”

“I mean—anybody ever shoot at you, when you were enlisted?”

“Not to speak of. I was rated a Data Network Specialist. Computer stuff. But somebody shot at me the other day. I handled it.”

“You might have to handle it again,” he said as they turned the corner. “Come on!”

They dodged through the light traffic, making a Safeway truck blare its horn at them, a cab driver cuss at them. Then they were across, stepping into a doorway.

An automatic light came on when they went into the darkened doorway. Wolfe instinctively pushed her behind him.

“I thought I told you, Wolfe, not to—”

“Quiet. Here they come. They turned when we did. Doesn’t prove anything but…”

The van was still toddling slowly along the street. It hadn’t quite drawn abreast of them yet. The van was driving about five miles per hour, clearly taking its time as the driver searched for something—he was the one getting honked at now, the driver, who looked vaguely familiar… from the old lodge.

“See if that door behind us will open,” Wolfe said. He hadn’t even noticed what kind of building it was before he’d ducked into the doorway.

“Yeah. But there’s a security guy at the desk staring at us…”

“Be ready to go through the door anyway… if we have to.”

The van’s driver wasn’t looking his way. But as it drew abreast, that profile…

Then it hit Wolfe. The driver was the Graywater who’d fired the AK47 at him.

And now the driver of the van turned his head—and looked straight at Wolfe.

“Go!” Wolfe said sharply.

She turned, and opened the door, and they rushed through.

“Can I help you folks?” the black security guard asked them, standing. He wore a uniform but didn’t seem to have a gun on him. The lobby was faced in marble and brass. This must be some kind of upscale high rise apartment.

Wolfe turned, glanced through the door. Saw the van pulling up, the driver getting out—with a Mack 10 auto-pistol in his hand.

“Visiting friends upstairs,” Wolfe said. “Party.”

“Sir…”

But then the elevator opened, and a lady with an ermine coat stepped out, with her two small white fluffy dogs on a leash. “Come on lovie loves,” she said. “Walkie walkie!”

Before the elevator doors had closed Wolfe and Seline were through them, and Wolfe was punching the Close Doors button. He saw the security guard push the woman with the dogs out of the way—she dragged the dogs with her—as the Graywater merc burst into the lobby, raising the Mack 10.

The doors closed, catching a short burst on them, then the elevator was headed up.

“I hope those people in the lobby are okay, Wolfe,” Seline said.

“So do I. The Graywaters won’t waste time with them. They’ll be coming right after us. Anyway—there are a lot of lives at stake. More than you know. Thousands.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something called the Iceberg Project. Tell you later.”

“Just tell me one thing—how’d these guys in the van find us?”

“Security cameras in Union Station. I guess they were monitoring the place through their pal at Blume pretty closely to keep us from leaving town. And they had your face in their system. And ctOS recognized you and sent those lunkheads over to take us out. Must’ve been close by—the Blume Building’s not far off…”

“Oh. I shouldn’t have taken off the scarf.”

He was thinking that there had been an emergency stop elevator button in the lobby—and just as that thought crossed his mind, the elevator jarred to a stop.

“Oh shit,” she said.

They were about seven floors up. They seemed to be almost up to the eighth floor.

“Let’s not stay here and wait for the sons of bitches,” Seline said. She found the emergency open door button, slapped it, and the doors opened—showing they were halfway up the doorway of the eighth floor.

Wolfe slid the plastic bag through the doorway, onto the carpeted floor, then did a pull up, and scrambled out onto the hallway. He turned reached down, clasped Seline, and helped her up.

Then he picked up the bag—and drew his gun. “This way.”

They ran to the door to the stairs, through it—and then they heard urgent footsteps coming up the stairs, not far below them.