Matrix Man (23 page)

The electronic Carla Subido looked solemn. "According to top-secret information obtained by the CIA, Leader for Life Numalo has used blackmail, bribery, and murder to position himself for global leadership. Details will be forthcoming in the next few days. In the meantime President Hawkins joins other leaders around the world in mourning this lost opportunity to move forward into a new age of peace and harmony. He hopes that coming years will bring us closer to this important goal, but feels this particular opportunity has passed. Thank you, and good night."

Carla reached for her comset, but it buzzed before she could pick it up. Only a few people had her unlisted number, so she didn't hesitate to pick it up. "Carla Subido."

"Yes, ma'am. This is Sugar. I can't find my keys. Could I take a look to see if I left them laying around somewhere?"

Carla's brain raced. Was it for real? Sugar had spent the afternoon with her but. . . Where did he live anyway? With a sudden sense of shock Carla realized she didn't know. What if it was just minutes away, so close that someone could see the broadcast and order him to come over? She did her best to keep it light. "Of course, Sugar. Come on up. I'll release the front door."

Carla hit the door release and ran for her bedroom. It would take Sugar three, maybe four minutes to cross the downstairs lobby, enter an elevator, and ride to her floor.

The bulky robe swirled and swished, almost causing her to trip. She dropped it at the foot of her king-sized bed and dived for the nightstand.

The ugly blue-black shape of the Mini-Uzi was in the top drawer, right where it was supposed to be. She grabbed it and hit the magazine release. The magazine was full up. She slammed it home, slipped a bullet up the spout, and released the safety. It was ironic that Sugar had provided the Uzi and taught her how to use it.

Still naked, she padded toward the front door, holding the weapon's cold metal close to her body. Adrenaline surged through her circulatory system and blood pounded in her brain. Unlatching the front door, she backed away and dropped to the thickly carpeted floor.

Outside, beyond her front door, Carla heard the sound of a chime and the swish of elevator doors. There was a moment of silence followed by a soft tapping on the door.

"Come in!" Carla shouted, trying to make her voice sound far away. "I'm getting dressed."

The door swung open and bumped softly against the doorstop. Carla started to squeeze the trigger, but the doorway remained empty. Damn. It was just as she'd feared. Sugar had orders from Numalo, orders to kill her, and was playing it smart.

Carla forced herself to wait, holding her breath, trying not to shiver as the hallway's cool air raised goose bumps along her arms and legs. Carla liked Sugar and wished it was someone else. She wondered if he felt the same way.

Then Sugar came, sliding around the door frame like a shadow on the wall, the sawed-off Mossberg an extension of his right arm.

Carla squeezed the trigger and held on. The Uzi chattered and jumped. Sugar's body jerked like a puppet on strings, slammed into the wall, and slid toward the floor. It settled there like a pile of old clothes.

As the Uzi clicked empty, Carla listened for the sound of disturbed neighbors, alarmed security guards, or other signs of distress. The only thing she heard was the insistent buzz of her phone. It seemed the building's expensive soundproofing had done its job.

Carla stepped over Sugar's body, closed the door, and returned to the living room. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Is this Carla Subido?" The voice was male and extremely polite. She wondered how he'd obtained her number.

"Yes."

"My name is Martin," the voice continued. "Did you watch the special address on television?"

"Yes," Carla answered, wondering where the conversation was headed.

"Excellent," Martin replied. "It is my opinion that agents of Samuel Numalo will attempt to murder you. Do you agree?"

Carla glanced toward the front door and cleared her throat. "Yes."

"And you wish to continue living?"

"Yes."

"Good," Martin replied. "In that case I suggest you do exactly as I say."

 

 

 

17

 

 

"It's time to leave," Corvan said, stepping into the editing suite. "Company's on the way by now."

Kim nodded, pulled the wire out of her temple jack, and stood up. She looked tired and had every right to. In the last six hours she'd bullied Nolly into helping her with the VMG, carried out some tricky editing, and done all of it under pressure.

Kim held her left index finger over the touch-sensitive computer screen and looked at Corvan. "If I touch it, the VMG goes bye-bye. Yes or no?"

"You did what we discussed?"

Kim nodded. "I stashed the whole thing in Network 56's central computer. They'll never think to look for it there."

"Let her rip, then," Corvan replied. "They can rebuild, but this'll slow them down."

Kim touched the screen, which caused El Supremo to dump the VMG's program and data files. "Done."

Corvan nodded and triggered the two-way radio in his ear. "Sergeant Fong?"

"Sir?"

"Waste the equipment room."

"Yes, sir." Farther down the hall Fong threw an incendiary grenade into the main equipment room. The resulting fire would destroy the VMG's electronic components and slow the WPO's tech types when they tried to build a new unit.

As they jogged toward the building's main entrance, Corvan was amazed that they'd managed to pull it off. On more than one occasion the entire charade had come close to collapsing around them. The worst moment had come when the president's press secretary, Stan Lester, called up and demanded to see what they'd accomplished so far.

First they stalled him with the segment of the Hawkins video which Nolly had already prepared. After that it became increasingly difficult. Time passed, deadlines came and went, and each time Lester called, they had nothing new to show him. Nothing they wanted to show him anyway. As a result the press secretary became increasingly upset and began to threaten all sorts of dire penalties.

Then Kim got on the phone, claimed Nollins was seriously ill, and said she was taking over. Then she stalled him with a phony equipment failure, a programming glitch, and a bad circuit board.

Finally, with only three minutes to air, Kim told Lester she was ready and asked if he'd like to preview the president's speech. By that time sixty-three different networks were conferenced on the line, clamoring for video, and calling the press secretary every name in the book.

Promising Kim an ugly death if anything went wrong, Lester had little choice but to give the go-ahead, and soon lived to regret it. It was safe to assume that by the end of Carla Subido's speech, Lester had either died of a massive coronary or called for a WPO assault on the E-FEX-1
studios. If they didn't leave—and quickly—chances were they never would. Back behind them an alarm went off as the blaze in the equipment room found something really flammable and took off.

Suddenly Corporal Ellis came running around the corner up ahead. "Colonel! Thank God! We've got company and they mean business. At the moment they're using Sokolov as a punching bag, but as soon as they finish with him, they'll be coming our way."

Corvan swore and ran even faster around the corner and into the lobby. He reached the one-way glass just in time to see Sokolov fall to the ground and a WPO captain bring a loud hailer to his lips. Corvan looked, then looked again. The captain was none other than Hans Dietrich! The German's voice was loud and slightly distorted.

"You in the building there. This is Captain Hans Dietrich. You are in violation of United States law. You have ten seconds to surrender or suffer the consequences."

"Sir?" The voice in Corvan's ear was Sergeant Fong. She wanted orders. Corvan sighed. If anything sucked, this did. Chances were that none of Dietrich's troops knew the real score. Like thousands of other people, they were being used. It would be wrong to kill them. On the other hand, Fong and her people were risking their lives to help him, were depending on him, and were just as innocent. On top of that there was the fact that the job was only half done. By making Subido look like a traitor, they'd messed around with Numalo's chain of command, and that would slow him down, but it wouldn't stop him. And unless they accomplished that, then the whole thing would raise its ugly head again. The words tasted bitter in his mouth as he said:

"We'll get their attention while you take the rest of the team out the back door and flank 'em. Minimum force to get the job done. We'll meet at the personnel carrier."

"Copy that, sir," Fong replied, her voice grim. "I'll see you there."

"This is your last chance," Dietrich said, his voice booming around the building. "Come out with your hands on top of your heads."

"Sir?" It was Corporal Ellis. He held out a H&K G-40 assault rifle. Corvan reluctandy accepted the weapon, knowing that as he did so, he was taking another step away from the role of observer and any claim to objectivity. The problem was that either you were in or out. You couldn't have it both ways.

"Captain?"

Kim shook her head to the proffered weapon. "No thanks, I'd just shoot myself in the foot."

"Time's up," Dietrich said. "We're coming in."

Corvan activated his radio while motioning the other two toward the rear of the room. As he dropped, they did likewise. "Sergeant Fong, if you read me, we could use some smoke in front of the building."

"I copy," Sergeant Fong replied tersely. "Smoke's on the way."

Moments later smoke billowed in front of the building. Corvan wasn't sure how Fong had accomplished it, but good noncoms moved in mysterious ways.

Outside, two or three troopers opened up with automatic weapons. They were coming in.

Kim tried to will herself down through the cold, hard floor as the picture windows exploded into an avalanche of glass and the two men began to fire back. They fired in short three- or four-round bursts, not expecting to hit anything, stalling while Fong went out the back.

Kim undid her holster and dragged out her sidearm. She didn't want to deal with a submachine gun, but a pistol couldn't be all that complicated. Slugs whipped over her head as she pulled the slide back and worked a bullet into the chamber. Holding the weapon with both hands, Kim aimed toward the door and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Swearing to herself, she looked for the safety.

Something flew through a picture window and landed with a thump in the middle of the floor. ''Grenade!" Ellis yelled and threw himself on it.

There was a loud, cracking sound and the corporal's body was tossed into the air like a rag doll. It was still falling when three troopers charged through the door.

Corvan fired and rolled right. The first one staggered but didn't fall. Body armor! He gritted his teeth and fired again. The top of the trooper's head flew off as the slugs sliced through her skull.

Then the second trooper landed on top of him, driving down with the butt of his grenade launcher, trying to smash Corvan's face.

Kim found the safety and flicked it off just as the third trooper stood over Corvan and looked for an opening. The second trooper, the one with the short shotgun-looking thing, was in the way.

Corvan did something with his knee and the second trooper rolled away. He swore as a piece of broken glass stabbed him in the back. The third trooper grinned and swung his submachine gun over until the stubby barrel was lined up on the reop's real eye.

Without being aware of it, Corvan zoomed in and discovered that the third trooper was Hans Dietrich. At first his face was full of hate, then it came apart as Kim's slugs hit it from behind and turned it into a mass of red mush. Corvan rolled out of the way as the body fell. Glass crunched but left him untouched. Dietrich hit with a heavy thud and sent glass tinkling in every direction.

Careful of the broken glass, Corvan stood and hurried over to where Kim lay staring at the body. "He's dead, Kim. Come on. Let's get out of here."

Kim's eyes grew large. Her lips moved but nothing came out. Corvan turned, firing from the hip. Trooper number two staggered, dropped his commando knife, and toppled over backward. Blood spurted out of the bullet holes in his neck and stopped when his heart did.

Kim shuddered, tried to throw up, and failed. Corvan grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the front door. "We're coming out!" Corvan yelled into the radio. "Cover us if you can!"

Corvan heard automatic weapons rattle in response as he stumbled toward the front door. The room was thick with smoke. Some of it came from the grenade and the rest from the burning equipment room.

Coughing and choking, they stumbled through the shattered door and dodged right. Seconds later someone fired a shoulder-launched missile into the building's lobby and it exploded with a loud boom. The back blast blew Corvan and Kim off their feet. The reop was just struggling to his feet when he heard the chatter of automatic fire, followed by a scream. With the exception of distant sirens, things were suddenly quiet.

Then Corvan heard the rumble of a heavy-duty engine and a personnel carrier nosed its way through the smoke. Corvan swung his weapon in that direction, but stopped when he saw Fong's grimy face in the open window. She smiled. "Going my way, Colonel?"

Corvan grinned. "Best offer I've had all day. Casualties?"

Fong motioned toward the rear of the vehicle. "Cerkin caught one in the thigh, and Van Kleek took one through her right bicep. Where's Ellis?"

Corvan shook his head. "Dead. He threw himself on a grenade."

Fong nodded matter-of-factly. "Then we're all present or accounted for. Time to haul ass."

"Roger that," Corvan agreed fervently. "We'll ride in back."

Fong put the big truck in gear and stepped on the gas. As it growled forward, strong arms pulled Corvan and Kim over the tailgate. Voices welcomed them aboard and Corvan saw a blur of friendly faces as he scrambled toward the front.