Better to Beg Forgiveness (59 page)

Ah, well. That did mean a better chance of notice . . . assuming they got through. But what the hell had Elke meant by "allied force"? Was that just a distraction? It had to be.

"Ladder," Alex pointed. "Goes up to the maintenance mezzanine."

"Perfect!" Jason tried not to shout. "Bal first, go!" It was a ladder with a web of safety rails around it, and a hatch only three meters up.

Bal looked dazed but did as he was told, clambering up as fast as he could. Jason went second. He held the hatch and stood ready to close it.

"Someone coming," Shaman hissed. "We'll meet you there. Go," he said, as he handed up the coil of cable, then slid down the ladder, turning to appear as if he hadn't used it yet.

Then the shooting and shouting started underneath. Jason closed the hatch with a curse and a flip of his stomach.

Below, he heard the zapping bang of a stun grenade, but whose?

No time. He needed to get Bal two hundred meters across that way. There was a catwalk near the arching roof but no handy way to get there. Or, there were the climate control ducts hanging on heavy straps. Those straps were not rated for a man's weight, certainly not for two, but he'd done it once or twice during maintenance, and this was an emergency.

Which of course meant it would fail. He was sure of it. Nevertheless, he urged Bal to shimmy up atop a decent-sized duct leading from an air handler, and followed.

"Watch yourself," he said with a wince as he ripped his palm on a loose edge. Even plastic could be sharp, and this stuff didn't get beat around enough to dull it down. There'd be jagged edges at every seam.

Elke was truly insane, Bart decided, head ringing from the triple blast. He also intended to shoot anyone who tried to get her therapy. Her lunacy had kept them alive many times now. When all you had was explosive, everything looked like a bank vault, it seemed. He wondered how much she had left.

"Catwalk," she said. "You cover down here and stop anyone. I'll cover the top." She unslung her shotgun, the strap tangling for a moment on the remains of her shirt.

"
Ja,
" he agreed. That was likely best. Staggered defense for a few more seconds could let them finish this. He handed over his ersatz rappelling rope, which she dropped over her shoulder as she swung onto the ladder and started climbing. She ignored the power lift. It would make noise and be otherwise detectable, but she had a stiff climb without it, in higher than normal gravity. Bart crouched and ran to a pile of crates he could use for cover.

Clattering booted feet sounded from two directions, and it sounded like a lot of them. From his "rear" came a series of small explosions and shouts. Someone had found Elke's mines and was delayed. He squatted behind a stack of slatted plastic pallets that were great concealment but lousy cover, as absolutely anything could shoot right through them. Of course, he thought, as he laid out pistol, shotgun, and baton, that made them a great rest, because absolutely anything could shoot right through them.

Elke had stun rounds in this cassette, but he wasn't sure how many, nor could he easily read the indicators. On the other hand a shotgun was loud. Bart let the first man, almost certainly local security, get into clear view, then deliberately shot just behind him. He shrieked, stumbled, and dove for cover against the wall of the end studio. Bart recalled the map for a moment. No, that was not the studio in question, and holes wouldn't matter.

Someone else was close behind and shot back, then tossed a stun grenade that landed short. He felt the tingle through the gaps in his position, but it wasn't disabling yet. Bart had nowhere to retreat, however.

It took two seconds to empty the remaining rounds in the shotgun, snapping the trigger and letting the cassette spin sequentially until empty. Ambient light grew brighter as he shot, as several rounds tore holes in the studio wall across from his position. Shouts and curses indicated he'd had good effect. No one wanted to face that kind of artillery, even in full armor, and non-Recon people in suits were likely not wearing more than torso armor to start with.

He wasn't sure at first why he was cringing, until his brain caught up with his reflexes and realized several weapons were being emptied at him not far ahead. Another grenade banged and zapped, and his left fingers went half numb. Something clublike slammed into his leg, and he knew he'd been shot.

That was enough. He shouted, "
I
surrender!
" loudly and raised the shotgun butt first. He raised it off to one side, in case they decided to shoot.

"Drop the weapon and come out!" came the reply.

"I am wounded," he said.
Ja
, his leg was hit, muscle torn red and blood pouring out. He hoped they had a medic. Oh,
scheisse
, it hurt. He felt nauseous under the sweats and needed to lie down.

"Nice try. You better hope you can walk out, or we'll use shitgas."

That would certainly slow things down while they masked, but Bart had a better plan on removing combat effectives. His leg jolted with pain anyway, so he shuffled forward on his knees, leaving both firearms and using the baton as a short walking stick. Even that was excruciating, but he had to hold out a few moments more.

As soon as he peeked around he saw weapons. There were six here, plus the one he'd scared who'd been stunned by the incoming fire. Enemy fratricide was so useful when you were outnumbered. He just hoped he could arrange more.

"Put the baton down
now
!" someone shouted, recognizing it as a probable weapon.

So Bart jerked and fell forward, extending his arm and the baton in it. That aimed the baton directly at his foes, and made him the smallest target possible in the open. The floor was dusty but also cool, which felt good. He was near to throwing up from the pain.

As the first of them approached, he flicked the button for the light and started pressing the trigger.

Two men recoiled from the actinic flash, one stumbled from the charge, and a second one dodged aside. He could see four more weapons pointed at him, and more than one of them fired their own charges.

At least his leg stopped screaming at him as he blacked out.

"This is it," Alex said to Shaman, amazed at how calm he sounded. Whoever had discovered them was twitching on the ground ten meters away at a blast from Shaman. No one had seen Jason and Bal that he knew of, so it was time to create distractions and vacate this area.

He fired a shot into the wall behind, paused a second for a response, then fired five more times in a vertical line to break a hole. He crashed through, leaving skin. His face, arms, and chest stung and burned and he was bleeding in ten places at once, but Shaman could tape him up afterward. Right now, he needed an outside wall of some kind, or a stairway. This was a vacant office with a desk and computer but nothing to indicate human occupation. It was just one box of many. He pulled the door on the far wall and Shaman led the way through in guard position into another hallway of this rat maze. No civilians, no threats. Behind them, however, was a large amount of noise as security people arrived. He yanked the initiator on an incapacitance grenade and tossed it in as he closed the door. That was area denial at least. Three meters to the right, Shaman opened another door, fired a preemptive stun at something and waved. Behind him he heard the beautiful sound of someone violently heaving their guts and banging on the door in panic.

In two more twisted passages they reached an outside wall with a rolling overhead loading door. Somewhere was a ladder or elevator, but it wasn't here. He heard definite sounds of troops in both directions. This area was hotter with fumes and a hint of fresh outside air.

Gulping, he hit the lift button, grabbed hold of a ridge on the door and jammed his boot toes into another. If he could ride this up, there might be something to hang onto.

From outside he heard, "Shit, there's one!" and someone fired at Shaman with a real weapon. Shaman ducked, rolled, zapped in that general direction, and ran. Three people pursued him, local security in plain coveralls. Three more bashed through a wall and caught sight of the fracas and followed. Now they were chasing him, and none of them noticed Alex rising up with the door.

The full height was ten meters. Alex reached six in a panic, looking across both levels of offices, until he saw enough bracing and scaffolding to take his weight at least, a couple of meters higher. He wouldn't fall unless shot, and he could snipe at the minimum. Not that many meters away, he could see Jason and Bal creeping along ductwork.

Then three blasts almost blew him off the door. A cloud of dust billowed to his right and a gaping hole opened in the wall. He cringed and clutched, eyes closed against the dust until he remembered he was on a
rising door
and had to find a handhold at once. He took a glance through slit eyes, saw a girder, and snatched at it. He kicked off, wrapped his legs around and started shimmying backward. Below he saw the concrete floor, a cruel bitch he didn't want to get intimate with. He didn't loosen his cramped hands until he felt a vertical truss that let him stagger carefully upright. From there, he had to step gingerly along the five-centimeter-wide joist using wires and angled braces for balance. He took a much needed break to calm down. Sweat was pouring into his wounds and the combination gravity and atmosphere getting to him.

He almost fell when he heard more shooting and explosions. But those were a good thing, because it meant this wasn't over. That was also a bad thing, as it meant this wasn't over. Any time now, sensor gear would be brought in and start showing vital signs, including his. They were on minus minutes and counting.

He cautiously eased forward. Ahead was the overhead of the offices, and beyond that the soundproofed double walls of the studios. At this point, his greatest fear was that someone, probably on the other side, would take out the power or antenna and leave them with no message to send. He had to hope their plan was to be as discreet as he'd hoped to be, and be struggling with the reality for a few more minutes.

Someone was busy, Jason thought. A triple blast indicated Elke, he hoped, and not some other agency. He heard general shooting now, coming from all directions. The six of them had managed to tie most of the security up, but there was bound to be some at the studio entrances, still. Elke was right. They needed to be overhead fast, and rappel down. They only had to get Bal in, and not get dead in the process. That would do the trick. At least he hoped it would. This was the final drive and they had no Plan B now. Not even Elke had that much explosive.

"Come on, Bal," he urged. He'd taken the lead because Bal was having serious trouble with the heights and swaying supports. Well, so was Jason, but this was the only feasible way.

"Coming," Bal agreed, and kept moving. It was taking ongoing support to keep him going, though. The man was near mental exhaustion and looked ready to give up. He was lagging from a combination of the environment, the duration, and the stress. However, now was not the time, dammit. Harsh measures were called for.

"Bal, if you fuck this up at this point in the game, I will kick your ass, and then I will shoot you myself. You are part of this team and you are not fucking it over because you've had a bad day."

A look of pure rage crossed Bal's face, then slipped back underneath as he nodded. Jason could see his jaw grinding as he walked, though. He'd hit close with that one. Good. He'd do it again if he had to.

A strap popped and the ducting creaked as it repositioned. Jason held out a hand and clutched at Bal's, then pulled him forward. Another snapped and he had to skitter back himself, spreading their mass out over as great an area as possible.

"Hand and knees," he said.

A bullet whanged by, the weapon's report echoing in the large dome. "Over here!" someone shouted.

There was more fire from another direction, then two groups were shooting at each other. Just ahead was the thick mesh of a catwalk with railings. That was safer for walking, if more predictable.

"Hurry, Bal," he urged again. "We're there."

Alex had almost reached a work platform welded against another upright when the weapons fire started. Far across the dome was a man with a carbine in a good shooting position, aimed in the direction of Bal and Jason. He had to do something about that, but the only weapon he had at this point was a pistol. A shot at that range was almost ludicrous, but he only needed to be close. Better, still, that he did not hit. He leaned across the small floor and took careful aim, then fired.

In moments, he was taking fire in return. They couldn't see him, but could deduce it soon enough.

A crashing blow on his shoulder told him "soon enough" was now. Spots flashed in front of his eyes as he passed out from the pain.

Horace had no idea what to do other than seek people out and put them down. At this point, they wanted to not draw attention to Bal by crowding him. Jason should be enough, and with Alex up above, or more, he could work best down here.

The question was, how many of them had his picture, had memorized it, and would recognize him now? If he could get close . . . 

"Help, security, I see a man!" he shouted in his best American accent. Most of the execs in this field were American, after all. His suit was dirty but that was not unexpected.

Damn, they were good, he thought with disgust. Two Recon troops just appeared, one through a wall leaving a hole, and one dropping down off nearby scaffolding. They pointed weapons at him.

"Where?" one asked.

"Right there," Horace said, pointing with his empty right hand up into the framework above. When they followed his finger, he swung his baton out with his left hand, flashed the light and zapped at the same time, just as they swung at him.

He did get both of them. They got him. The irony of the combat doctor getting shot center of mass was not lost on him. He felt a sledgehammer blow to the chest and went down.

Elke reached the top and hopped lightly over the secured gate onto the catwalk. The coiled cable and her bag tangled somewhat, but they were annoying rather than a real hindrance. She confirmed there were six walks radiating from the center, and that Bal and Jason were on another one heading to the cross-route that would put them above the studio. The plan had been to meet at the supplemental control room off to her left from here, but they saw each other and headed straight for the access at the center of the studio. Power was still up and the broadcast was still going on. Aramis had been right. Interfering with a broadcast was the one thing the government did not want to do, and they weren't going to discuss it with local hires around. Add in the debate between bureaus as to who controlled what, and it was still an exploitable situation. She moved as fast as she could while keeping silent, senses alert for threats. Not that she could do much with just a couple of small charges; all her weapons were behind her, and she hoped Bart would take care of her shotgun.