Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (32 page)

He reapplied Alex’s bandage and handed him the medpac. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

As Alex opened the door, Steve grabbed his shoulder and peered out. A breakfast tray waited on a side table by the door. He closed the door. ‘Be aware, there are—’

‘Cameras in the bedrooms.’

Steve smiled. ‘Yes, of course, you’d know that wouldn’t you.’

* * * *
 

Steve bowed his head to the man opening the conference room door, ‘
Merci.
’

Francois had enthroned himself at the far end of the table beneath the gilded laurels, ‘Ah,
bonjour
, Steve.’ To his right sat Dee and the pasty-faced Morton, to his left the beaming Alex. Steve took his place next to Alex.

Francois glanced across, ‘The Council have requested a CONSEC protection force for Provenance and Admiral Choo has agreed that you rejoin the Quad as my second-in-command.’

Dee’s palms slapped the table. ‘That was my post!’

Francois’s head spun. ‘
Décorum s’il vous plait!
’

Dee withdrew his hands. Francois’s tone required no translation.

‘Steve is injured, until he has recovered it is your post, even though you did not attend the Academy.’

Dee rubbed the back of his head, ‘Right, sorry.’

‘
Bon
. Steve will stay here with Alex and Morton. You and I must go to headquarters.’

Steve’s gaze crossed the table to Morton’s imperious smile. He had no doubt that when SIS had what they wanted, they would kill him. He also, bizarrely, suspected Alex would defend him. ‘I’m well enough to travel.’

Francois smiled. ‘Yes I know, but I need you to be recuperated. It is better you rest here.’ The smile dissipated. ‘Admiral Choo said that the Resistance have plans to attack installations. Each Advocate will command a CONSEC battalion to protect them.’

In keeping with decorum, Steve lifted his hand.

‘Yes, Steve?’

‘Did you find out if the—?’

Francois’s flashing MCD vibrated the tabletop.

Seconds later, he raised his head. ‘The Council have issued a decree. Anyone suspected of aiding the Resistance is to be executed. All Drones are suspect.’

Steve glanced around the table.
Curtain up
.

11:07 SAT 04:11:2119

Red Zone, London, England, Sector 2

Francois looked up at the operations room viewscreen. Admiral Choo’s chin rested on the navy-blue mandarin collar, almost covering his five silver stars. Choo would have no rank in Francois’s new world.

He and Dee had arrived at SOHQ ten minutes earlier and listened while Choo explained the Council’s decision to initiate the decree. The threat to Provenance and Continuity was so great that they had deployed every Quad. There would be no reserves.

Francois understood why SIS would want that. As soon as Provenance was in their control, they would order their artificials to turn on their Advocate masters.

Choo looked up, ‘Commander Thibeauchet. You will command force nineteen at RS 52.’

Francois knew that order was for the benefit of Dee.
La mascarade continue.
‘Yes
,
sir
.’
His heart quickened. Dee stared at him, dark eyes locked in a frown. Francois stabbed a glance, but it was futile.

Choo intervened, ‘Do you want to speak, Lieutenant Brandleson?’

‘Admiral, I don’t think a nutriment research site is a priority target.’

‘Why? Do you think food is not important?’

‘No, sir, I mean yes, sir, but MP 14 has been reconned, reconnoitred. I think it’s a target.’

Choo’s eyes scurried right, to something or someone out of sight. He nodded once and redirected his scowl at Francois. ‘How do you know this?’

Anger stiffened Francois’s shoulders. He had not realised the depth of Dee’s ambition. ‘I have received a report, sir.’

‘From who?’

Desperation replaced Francois’s anger. This was dangerous. If SIS discovered he had one of their HPUs they would execute him. If he allowed Dee to discover SIS’s plans for Steve, they would execute them both. ‘It was anonymous, sir.’

Admiral Choo’s face softened as it turned to Dee. ‘Is that true, lieutenant?’

Dee raised his chin towards Francois; defiance flared bright, ‘No, sir.’

Francois pleaded through his eyes.

Choo wrenched their attention back to the screen, ‘Lieutenant!’

‘Captain Arrowsbury told us, sir. He led the reconnaissance.’

Francois accelerated his
délibération
. The difference between life and death was the difference between thinking and acting. His lips curved into a broad smile. ‘Captain Arrowsbury is helping my investigation. When it is finished I will have the name of the Resistance leader in Western Europe.’

Choo’s eyebrows arched, ‘Why did you say anonymous?’

Francois jabbed his gaze right. ‘I am sorry Admiral, but Lieutenant Brandleson sometimes talks too much. For that reason, I have not discussed the investigation with him.’

Dee’s face twisted, ‘What! You’re keeping tabs on him for SIS!’

Francois sighed, ‘You can see, he has not enough
sang-froid
.’

‘Where is Captain Arrowsbury?’

Francois stiffened. ‘He is at my home, sir.’ The screen blanked. He continued to stare ahead, ignoring the wrath of Dee’s glare.

Choo’s face returned, ‘Commander Thibeauchet, you go to your home and continue with investigation. Captain Arrowsbury must not leave.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Lieutenant Brandleson, you are promoted to Captain. You command force three and protect MP 14.’

Francois’s eyes slewed right. White teeth split Dee’s anthracite jaw. ‘Yes, sir!’

The CONSEC rings replaced Choo’s face. Francois turned, ‘You have what you want yes?’

Dee stepped closer. ‘We’ve all gotta choose sides Francois. You, me,
and
Steve are all supposed to be fighting for the same thing, but sometimes I get the feeling I’m the only one who’s fighting for what matters.’

Francois glared, ‘You are wrong
Capitaine
. It is I who fights the
juste cause
.’

Dee’s bulk leant towards him, ‘CONSEC will look after Steve now, he doesn’t need you
or
your SIS buddies.’

Before he could respond, Dee’s MPS emitted a dull buzz.

‘Orders are in.’ Dee flashed a smile. ‘Thanks for looking after my family, I owe you for that — and if anything happens to them while I’m away, I’ll owe you for that as well.’

Francois returned the amiability, ‘
Bonne chance.
’

He watched Dee close the door.
Fool.
He would never see his family again. SIS had sentenced him to death, but it would be the Resistance who executed him.

Francois authenticated at the desk and activated the viewscreen. The communication uplink connected, but the screen remained blank.

‘Yes.’

He swallowed. ‘The person we protect was on flight 4518. Is that person valuable still?’

‘Yes. We were aware of the flight, its problems
and
its passengers. It was by our design. Why did you not report the incursion into MP 14?’

‘I have not finished my report. There is much data to compile.’

‘You will submit your report in two days.’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you for your diligence, Commander. Your continued support will enhance your reward.’

The screen flickered and died.
Why had they sabotaged Steve’s flight?
Francois’s enhanced reward posed no questions; it would be termination without the prerequisite torture.

13:56 SAT 04:11:2119

MP 14, Neuhame, Austria, Sector 2

Dee’s combat boots left a trail of sandy footprints across the sodden asphalt. The cold unrelenting misery dripped off his helmet and onto his glistening protector-plates. It hadn’t stopped raining since their arrival at MP 14 an hour ago.

Dark clouds had formed during the flight, but he’d had no choice. The reason why SIS were protecting Steve wasn’t important. What was important was CONSEC knew Dee wasn’t involved. His promotion confirmed he’d made the right decision, for him
and
Steve.

He’d just returned from the Anti-Personnel Batteries on the riverbank. Three covered the opposing bank, and one the weir causeway. If the Resistance attempted a river crossing, the auto-targeting APBs would chew them up before they left the far shore.

He stopped and blinked up into the rain. On top of the two-storey concrete building to his right, a crouching Defender lowered his XH-34A assault rifle and nodded.

Twenty Defenders covered the roofs of the five production buildings and five Air Defence Rails the skies. Not that he expected the Resistance to have any air tech.

Dee continued along the paved apron. Its one kilometre length and thirty-metre width separated the gigantic production buildings on his right, from the smaller administration buildings on his left. Only the administration buildings had windows, and they, like the doors, faced the apron.

A five-metre high concrete wall enclosed MP 14’s hollow rectangle of buildings, creating an arm-span wide maintenance corridor. Thick metal grills sloped up from the wall and closed off the top. MP 14’s only entrance tunnelled through the eastern wall. A pair of armoured gates opened into a kill zone, hemmed in on all sides by sabre-toothed road blockers.

He turned into the docking area of PB 2’s loading bay. Two Defenders guarded one of the six white roller doors. Like everyone in Force 3, they wore grey urban protector suits and open helmets. No one had lowered their visors; they had a life threatening habit of steaming up.

Opposite PB 2 was a vacant parking lot, the only break in the two rows of buildings that straddled the apron. He’d covered this logical assault point. Behind the door of loading bay four stood an MLC Mark IV, a magnetic-link coil gun, capable of firing six hundred titanium tipped flechettes a minute.

These two Defenders were the lure, the MLC, the noose.

He swung back towards the apron and raised his head. High above, two crouched Defenders faced each other, talking. Stinging rain added to Dee’s irritation, ‘Hey! You wanna take a trip to DC 1!’

The mere mention of the notorious one-way Detention Centre had the desired effect; they scrambled to their feet and stood rigid. ‘No, sir!’ ‘Sorry, sir!’

Dee continued to stare, silence would torment more than harsh words. He jolted, the right-hand Defender exploded in a ball of red mist. Dee dived towards the sanctuary of the wall and spun around. Ragged body parts splattered onto the apron. A helmet thudded a metre from his boot and rolled a crimson trail across black glass.

‘COMNET, Alpha one. Sitrep over!’ His gaze passed over the butcher’s off-cuts while his helmet strap’s inductive mike carried his voice across the apron to the Communication Network hub in AB 2.

‘COMNET. Multiple contacts sector north. APBs one and three neutralised, APB two damaged. Charlie sierra four, five and seven report casualties over.’

‘Alpha one. Wait out.’

Dee chewed on his bottom lip and stared at the decapitated helmet. Three APBs faced the river, beyond that; a dense camouflage canopy sloped up a gentle gradient. He’d covered that, five Prefects patrolled the forest.

Hugging the wall, he moved right, ‘COMNET, Alpha one. Sitrep papa romeos sector north over.’

‘COMNET. Sector north papa romeos offline over.’

‘Alpha one. Roger out.’ Dee bared his teeth.
Dumb
Prefects
. He jumped up, ran to the fixed ladder of Production Building 1 and began the climb.

By the time he reached the top, he’d lost count of the number of rungs.

The size of a football field, PB 1’s metallic roof consisted of six large corrugations running towards the river. He found two Defenders squatted in the gutter of the second valley, huddled over an MCD.

He knelt beside them and shouted over the incessant rain spatter, ‘Anything?’

The Defender holding the MCD shook his head, ‘No, sir.’ He offered Dee the MCD, ‘We’ve got two Spotters over the forest, but whoever’s in there must have shielding.’

Dee drew a hand across his dripping face. Prefects offline, shielding. Who’s attacking us?

He took hold of the MCD. The self-wiping screen showed an aerial view of the forest and cycled through a series of overlays, infrared, acoustic and biofield. He squinted up into the rain-laden sky. Shaped like a trash can lid, the Spotters couldn’t be seen or heard, not by humans anyhow.

He handed the MCD back. ‘Keep on it.’

Dee climbed down from the roof and sprinted across the apron to AB 2. He’d set up COMNET in the old telecoms room on the ground floor. AB 2 hadn’t been used for months, none of the buildings had.

He burst into the windowless room and tore off his helmet. To his left, a lanky Gold COMTECH bolted to attention. Two black bars on the Lieutenant’s puffed-out chest put him in charge; his youth and shiny new boots marked him as a goldtop. In the middle of the dimmed room, two operators stared at op screens. The COMTECH’s protector-plates lay on the floor to the right. Dee scratched his buzz cut, as did their machine pistols.

He strode forward, his helmet clattering down into an empty plastic chair, his glare ripping into the LT. ‘Sitrep!’

‘No change, sir. Still taking fire from the opposing riverbank. All other sectors quiet.’

‘Whatta ‘bout Scythes. Can we get a Whisper in from somewhere?’

The LT leant over the female COMTECH, ‘Check birds in range configured for ground clearance.’ Moments later, the LT turned to Dee. ‘Affirmative, sir. ETA six minutes.’

Dee relaxed, ‘Roger that.’ The Scythe’s spinning laser cords could cut a four-metre swathe through concrete, or forest. He gripped the male COMTECH’s seat back and stared down at the screen, ‘There’s no other movement?’

In his periphery, the LT shook his head, ‘No, sir, all Spotter screens are empty.’

‘Something ain’t right. Casualties?’

The LT complied, ‘MEDTECHs report ten killed, no wounded.’

Dee needed to find the enemy; ten-nil was not a medal winning score.