Codename: Night Witch (13 page)

Jaffer was the first to board the van once Tomás finally arrived to collect them.

"About time," Jaffer said, throwing the door wide. "If there's any damage to the rigs, it's on your head."

"Easy, Jaffer. We're all on edge here," Marta said. "Just relax. We'll be fine."

From there they drove in silence. All around them, shops were quickly boarded up, their windows barred and blacked out as more people retreated behind their walls and curtained windows. The streets were strangely empty. Once Sigrid spied an armored car as it sped past going the other way. Its emergency lights cut through the gloom, flashing amber and red, but then it disappeared around a cluster of warehouses, leaving them alone once more.

The only other vehicle to pass them was a single black limousine—probably carrying some dignitary or bureaucrat. Driving at great speeds, it weaved out from behind them, swerving madly. As it pulled out ahead, Sigrid caught a look at its armored windows. They were tinted black and shielded for privacy, though it didn't stop her from scanning the two occupants inside, a man and a young woman. Their heart rates were elevated, but this wasn't from the elation that came from a nighttime joyride. It was stress. They were frightened.

They were running.

The limousine pulled away at a frantic pace, though not before swerving back in front of them and nearly cutting them off.

"Hey, watch it, buddy!" Tomás said, shaking his fist after them. "Bloody plutocrats." Then, "
Jesus Christ!
"

Without warning, an oncoming lorry came barreling through the intersection ahead of them. The truck swerved—not to avoid a collision with the charging limousine, Sigrid realized, but to induce one.

With nowhere to turn and no time to stop, the speeding limousine crashed nose-first into the oncoming truck. The two vehicles came together in a violent explosion of kinetic energy that sent the limousine spinning a full ten-eighty degrees.

Tomás slammed on the brakes, swerving hard over to avoid getting caught up in the deadly collision and sending Jaffer, Marta and even Sigrid tumbling forward. Sigrid pulled herself from the floor, cursing and pledging to wear her safety belt from here on out.

"Is everyone all right?"

There were nods and mumbles of yes as they examined their bruises.

Sigrid glanced out the front window. Nothing was moving. The entire front of the limousine was a mangled mess, crushed beyond recognition. The heavy lorry, on the other hand, looked intact and no worse for it, other than an impressive dent along its front grill. By some miracle, the occupants of the limousine were still alive. Sigrid caught the barest traces of their life signs. They were low, but they were there, and they were alive.

Throwing the door of the van aside, she leapt out into the street. She was ready to rush to their aid, when the rear door to the truck was thrown open. Five men climbed out. They were dressed in black suits. And they were armed.

Jaffer grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Wait. Don't."

One of the men turned and looked their way. Seeing them, he took four steps toward them, and while he wasn't aiming his weapon, not directly, his intention was clear: back off!

His companions moved swiftly toward the crippled limousine. One of them walked up to the driver's side window, raised his weapon and fired. Armor-piercing rounds tore through the heavy, plated glass, killing the driver inside. It was a straight execution. Brutal and abrupt. Another of the armed men moved quickly to the passenger door. The door was bent and mangled and refused to open. More rounds were fired, and that window was shattered as well.

The two men reached in through the broken window. From inside, they pulled out the woman. She was young, only a teenager. She was unconscious and bleeding from a large wound in her forehead. Grabbing hold of her ankles and wrists, they carried her between them. Her white cocktail dress was smeared with blood, and her head hung limp as they whisked her to the waiting lorry.

"Rape gangs?" Tomás asked.

"Slavers," Marta said. "Maybe. Could be Syndicate boys."

"It's worse," Sigrid said, for she knew exactly what they were. This accident wasn't some random coming together. This was a targeted hit. "Those are freelancers."

"Freelancers?" Jaffer said, and his brows twisted together. "Forget it. There's no freelancers operating around these parts."

"They're freelancers, trust me." She was sure of it. She'd had her own run-ins with the free operatives. They were soldiers, but unlike mercenaries, freelancers weren't bound by guild law. They didn't care about sanctions or permits. Money was all they cared about. In the eyes of a real mercenary, freelancers were scum.

The last of the armed men boarded the lorry and slammed its doors shut. As it pulled away, its rear wheels rolled over what was left of the wrecked limousine, crushing its remains beneath its wheels.

"We can't just leave her!" Marta said.

"Don't worry," Sigrid said. "We won't."

CHAPTER NINE
White Knights

Sigrid leapt for the van, making for the driver's seat. She grabbed Tomás by the scruff of his shirt and had him half out of his seat before he realized what was happening.

"Whoa there, sweetheart! Hang on. Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, Tomás. I'm going to need your van."

"Hell you say. It's my van. I'll drive."

Behind her, she heard the door of the van slam shut. She turned to see Jaffer and Marta scrambling back in.

"You, all of you, out!" Sigrid ordered. "I'm going after her."

"And what you need to realize," Jaffer said, "is that so are we."

"Blast it, Jaffer, we don't have time for this!"

The lorry was making a hasty escape and was already out of sight. She was tracking it with her PCM, but if it got too far away, she'd lose it for good.

"You're right," Jaffer said. "We don't."

"Those aren't jackers, Jaffer. Those are freelancers. They're trained killers."

From the folds of her coat, Marta drew a long-barreled sidearm, gleaming and silver. "Didn't Jaffer tell you, sweetheart? So are we."

In the dark of the van, Sigrid looked from one trucker to the next. They all had the same knowing grin plastered on their faces.

"We served," Angel said. "All of us. CTF Naval Forces. Two tours."

"Served?" Marta said. "Angel, you were a cook. The only thing you served was breakfast."

"Yeah, and you were an engineer, and we both took the same combat training."

"Sorry, kid," Jaffer said, taking his seat. "Looks like you're stuck with us."

Sigrid had to hang on as Tomás threw the van back into gear, speeding off after the freelancers. At least he let her guide him, as she was still tracking them, and within minutes they had caught up. By this time, the freelancers' destination was clear. They were making for the southern gates and the flat lands beyond.

"Do we have a plan for this?" Angel said.

"I do," Sigrid said. She had her hand on the door and she slid it fully open, letting in a blast of rushing wind and noise. Stepping out onto the running board, she drew her sidearm and chambered a round. "Get me in close, Tomás. As close as you can."

Tomás grinned and nodded. He floored the throttle, sending them hurtling forward at even greater speeds. The lorry was less than a hundred meters ahead of them, and they were closing fast. Sigrid saw its red taillights flash as the larger truck weaved back and forth in front of them.

Marta, who was standing at her side and clinging to the door rail, scanned Sigrid with a curious if bemused look. A sudden blast of air whipped at her hair and she pulled it back from her face, and she had to shout to be heard over the rushing noise. "So, you're just going to, what, leap aboard and ask them to give that girl back? That's your plan?"

Sigrid scratched her head with the muzzle of her recoilless. As a matter of fact, that was her plan exactly. "I've been told I can be rather persuasive."

The driver of the lorry must have seen them coming up on them. He swerved hard over, once, then twice, crashing against them and nearly running them from the road and into the wall of a darkened warehouse. The van plowed headlong into a series of stacked crates, crashing through to the other side. Tomás was forced to back off, but only for a moment. Sigrid saw the wild determination in his eyes as he brought the van charging back alongside, renewing the chase.

The fleeing lorry increased its pace, but Tomás kept hard on its tail. Sigrid waited. When they were within four meters, she leapt.

For a brief instant she was intensely aware of the ground rushing by beneath her and then the lorry as she crashed against it. Her outstretched fingers caught the lip of the truck's roof. Finding a foothold was more problematic, and she was very nearly thrown clear as the back wheels found a particularly large pothole and she was bounced high, heel over backside.

For a moment, she hung there, clinging by her fingertips and struggling to catch her breath. Her toe found a loose rivet, and she clambered her way up onto the roof. With her legs and arms spread wide apart for balance, she turned back long enough to make sure the van was safely away. She was aboard and riding atop the freelancers' lorry. Now, it was time to save the girl.

Her thermal optics highlighted the five slavers in the back. Two more men rode up front. She aimed her recoilless and fired, only to see the bullets rattle harmlessly off the rooftop.

Blast.

The truck was surprisingly well shielded. The panels were bolstered with ablative plating—too much for her stolen 12 mm. All she needed was one simple gas grenade and this whole affair would be over. She determined then to raid an arms depot the first chance she got, and get herself a proper kit.

Well, if she couldn't blast her way in, perhaps there might be another way?

In their haste, the freelancers hadn't thought to lock the truck's rear door. The handle wasn't easy to reach, and she had to lie flat on her stomach, making herself as wide as possible as she eased her torso over the edge. Twice she was nearly bounced from the roof when the driver plowed over a curb and then through a retaining barrier. It was all she could do to hang on harder with her outstretched toes.

Leaning over and down, Sigrid reached out with her fingers and threw open the latch. The rear door swung wildly open, nearly knocking her from her upside-down perch.

She almost didn't see the fist that came hurtling toward her face.

Jerking her head to the side, she dodged the blow. Off balance, the freelancer teetered on the edge, his arms windmilling frantically. His fingers grasped for purchase that wasn't there. All Sigrid had to do was give him a gentle nudge. The man fell straight out the back, where he tumbled painfully across the pavement. One down. Six more to go.

Grasping the lip of the roof, Sigrid kicked her heels over her head and swung down into the back of the lorry. She came in fast, launching herself like a missile into their midst. One freelancer was unlucky enough to get in her way and her feet hit him solidly in the chest. The force of the blow was enough to crack several ribs and send him hurtling into two more of his comrades, bowling them over.

Letting her momentum carry her forward, Sigrid tumbled and rolled, coming up on one knee and with her sidearm already in her hand.

But rather than the furious faces of the surviving freelancers, Sigrid was greeted by something else. The body of the captured girl was at her feet. Unconscious, she lay there bound and gagged. She was injured. Her arm was broken and she was bleeding from a gaping wound in her forehead. But that wasn't what gave her pause or drew her focus from the battle.

There were other captives here. Three more girls sat staring at her with wild eyes. Their arms were bound behind their backs and thick tape had been drawn across their mouths and wrapped around their heads. And there was something about them, something terribly familiar—

The alarm blasting in her HUD screamed for her attention. It was her PCM, desperately alerting her to the danger and calling her back to battle.

Sigrid dived to the side, hurling herself against the opposite wall, but not fast enough to avoid the blast of the shotgun. Four of the shell's lead pellets ripped through her stomach and chest, tearing into her as much as they tore her open.

Eighteen new alarms flashed in her HUD, strobes of brilliant amber and red. Sigrid didn't remember firing her weapon. One shot took out the freelancer with the shotgun; a second round killed the man climbing in from the cab. The shot caught him between his eyes, sending him cartwheeling over backwards to crash into the dash. Only the driver remained—the driver, and these four strange girls.

It was a struggle just to get to her knees. The simple act of breathing hurt and there seemed a tremendous amount of blood, down her side and all the way down her legs. The pain was crippling, but Sigrid had no choice but to ignore it. Silencing the alarms, she did her best to crawl her way to the front of the truck.

She pushed the door to the cab open with a crash, practically tumbling into the driving compartment. The driver saw her and roared his rage. He reached for the sidearm holstered at his side—only to find her recoilless pressed against his temple.

Sigrid could have pulled the trigger. Goodness knows the scum deserved it. He was a freelancer, after all, and he'd show her no mercy if the tables were turned. But the rage she'd felt only moments ago was gone. In its place she felt only disgust.

"Get out."

Nodding in earnest, he unbuckled his harness, opened the door and threw himself into the night. She doubted he could survive the fall. Not at these speeds. But at the moment she didn't much care.

Half delirious, she crawled rather than slid into the driver's seat. She had to swerve quickly or else collide with the support beams of a water tower, and then again to avoid a row of refuse containers. But even with both feet on the brake pedal, she couldn't slow in time to stop from crashing through the large double doors of a warehouse that came hurtling towards her.