The Rogue Retrieval (29 page)

Rounds that
plink-­plinked
off the drone's shielded exterior.

What the hell is that thing made of?

“Gatling—­” said the spotter. Then a hail of bullets cut him practically in half. Logan yanked Mendez away from the M2 a second before the Gatling ripped it to shreds.

“Cease fire!” Logan shouted. They needed a new plan.

The radio crackled. “Logan, come in.”

What the hell does the magician need now?
“Not a good time, Bradley.”

“Can you bring the drone a ­couple hundred yards south?”

“Why would I do that?”

“To put it within range of the mangonels.”

The siege machines?
He seriously doubted that they'd make a difference, but it was worth a try. They certainly weren't having luck with modern weaponry, and it had been Quinn's trick that had gotten the drone close enough in the first place.

“Give me three minutes,” Logan said. He climbed out of the foxhole and took off running before he could really think through what a bad idea it probably was. He still wore the dark fatigues from under his armor. Not a bit of Kevlar on him, and the color would show up clear as day against the sandy hillside. The drone picked him up and began firing. He dove behind a rock at the sound of the Gatling gun. There was another bunker just up the hill, nearly on the south face. One more sprint should do it.

He took off again as the drone switched to RPGs.

Boom!

Ten yards behind him.

Boom!

Another one in front. Probably meant to turn him around, but he kept charging forward. Clouds of sand billowed in his face, and he could barely see, and it didn't take long until he was stumbling. Then his boot caught on something and he fell hard. It was the edge of the bunker. He managed to roll himself in before the next RPG hit.

“Get ready, Bradley,” he said over the radio.

He threw open the weapons locker and found an M4 on the rack.

He smiled. “Hello, old friend.”

He crawled into a prone position, easing the barrel around the edge of the bunker's window until he could just see the drone's rotor. He started firing at it.
Plink, plink, plink.
The .223 caliber rounds had zero chance of penetrating the drone's armor; at best, he could hope to annoy it.

But annoying gets your attention.
Just ask Bradley
, he thought to himself.

Plink, plink, plink.

“Come on, you bastard,” he said. “Come around for a better shot.”

The drone obliged him.

Q
uinn watched Logan's desperate run with binoculars. He made the bunker by a hair. Then he started shooting back. Rounds sparked off the rotor housing, more annoying to the drone than anything. After a few rounds the drone tilted slightly and glided south. Right into the designated kill zone.

Way to go, Logan.
“Here it comes!” Quinn shouted.

Miller himself called out the marks. “Sixteen degrees, range four hundred yards.”

The crews made adjustments. “Set!”

“Set!”

The wind died at just the right time.

Chaudri was spotting for them through a pair of binoculars. “Little bit more, little bit more.” Then she shouted, “Fire!”

The arms of the mangonels snapped forward; a hail of heavy stones filled the air. Quinn watched them arc through the sky, impossibly slow compared to the bullets slamming into Logan's bunker. But the rocks fell short, and the drone didn't even notice them.
Damn.

“Fifteen degrees!” the crew chief called.

“Set!”

Chaudri was watching. “Fire!”

The mangonels launched another volley.
Here we go again.
This wasn't going to work. What had he been thinking?

The engineers had the range perfect this time, though. The projectiles rained down on the drone. It shuddered under the impact, losing altitude. Hell, maybe he was right after all.
Time to finish this.

“Trebuchets,” Quinn said over the radio. The engineers signaled that they were ready. He raised his arm, trying to predict where the drone would end up. Its rotors made a horrific noise, like the screech of an old car starting up in cold weather, but so far they'd held. The craft banked just so. He brought his arm down sharply.
“Fire!”

Counterweights dropped. Two great arms rotated in a great
thwump
, slinging twin seven-­hundred-­and-­fifty-­pound stones in high arcs. They flew over the mangonels, over the wall . . .

“Damn, overshot it,” Quinn said.

Then the stones hit their apogee and dropped straight down. Slammed right onto the wings of the Raptor Tech drone. It plummeted beneath them and crashed with the horrific screech of wrenching metal.

Quinn pumped his arm in the air. “Yesss!” The engineers saw it and gave a yell of triumph. He hugged Chaudri and slapped the chief engineer on the back. They shook hands, laughing.

Logan's voice crackled on the radio. “Now that, Bradley, was magic.”

 

“Magicians don't have to be smart. But it sure helps.”

—­
A
RT OF
I
LLUSION,
D
ECEMBER 29

CHAPTER 26

LEVERAGE

T
he good news was that the drone was down. The bad news was Thorisson had escaped during the chaos. Surveillance footage showed him being escorted down a hallway toward the holding cells. An explosion hit, and the lights went out. When they came back on, both guards were down and Thorisson was no longer in frame.

That was right about when Kiara had ordered the nonessential computing shutdown, and the cameras had stopped recording. A comprehensive search two hours after the drone's destruction turned up only his old clothes and a missing Zodiac raft. There was no water cavalry to call in since they'd kept most of the company boats away while the drone controlled their sea lanes, so pursuit was basically impossible.

Company executives put out a BOLO, leveraging their contacts at the ports and travel centers. Thorisson would turn up soon enough. Or not—­the island was pretty far from everything, and the Zodiac wasn't really designed for cross-­ocean voyages. Either way, they hoped he wouldn't get a chance to pass along any intel on Project Gateway.

Quinn's own official debriefing with Kiara and the others began the morning after the attack and ran well into the night. He recounted what had happened since Valteron City. The encounter with Moric, the trip to the Enclave's island. His time there, watching, studying, taking classes. The library, the guild contract, even his little performance that allowed him to stay. In one day, he told them far more about Alissian magic and magicians than company researchers had gleaned over fifteen years.

Of course, he didn't tell them
everything
. He left out the part with Jillaine. Nothing really to tell there; she was just another magic user, so no need to single her out. He also kept the Captain Relling encounter in his pocket for the time being. The last thing he wanted was an excuse for the company to lead some kind of military extraction, even though he could guess how much the news would mean to Kiara.
Now's not the time.

Besides, what he could tell them about the Enclave had everyone riveted enough.

“Hundreds of magicians in one place,” Chaudri said, almost to herself. “Our counts were farther off than we knew.”

Kiara insisted that he recount every single use of magic that he'd witnessed while on the island or in the company of guild magicians. Quinn did his best, but there was simply too much. For weeks, he'd lived and breathed in a society that lived by magic. Existed
for
magic. Nearly anything she asked about, he'd seen happen once or twice. Teleportation, obviously. Telekinesis. Animal husbandry. All sorts of elemental manipulation. The only category of magic use he didn't really witness was violence. As a whole, magicians in Alissia were reluctant to use their arts against other ­people.

“That's consistent with our encounters with them,” Logan said. “The one that we met outside Valteron City—­I had my back to her, and all she did was immobilize me. She could have done a lot worse.”

He left one bit of magic out, though. One that he kept playing in his head over and over, to make sure he remembered it right. It happened on that cliff in the smuggler's ambush, when he'd shouted stop and put the sword over his head. He'd been out of tricks and illusions by then. And terrified he was about to watch his friends die. That's when the warmth rose up through him like an electrical current, and bright light crackled all around.

His breakthrough at last.

That's why he was so worried they'd confiscate the amulet from him; the inspection team had already made a note of it as an “acquired possession.” He even admitted that it was a key for finding his way back to the island. No way in hell he was going to let them take it, though, so he hedged a little.

“I wouldn't take it off me, if I were you,” he said.

“Why not?” Kiara demanded.

“Moric said I'm the only one who can use it, and if I take it off, it breaks the enchantment,” Quinn said. Not exactly truthful, but it was one of his only bits of leverage and he didn't want it to disappear into a company lockbox.
In case that's not convincing enough . . .
“And he also mentioned it wouldn't be pleasant for the one who took it off me. I don't know what he meant, but seeing some of the things I've seen, I don't doubt the creative nature of the magicians' retribution.”

Kiara ground her teeth. “You can keep it for now, Bradley, but I want you available to the research teams whenever they want a look at it.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

Once he'd answered Kiara's questions, she excused herself to confer with her superiors. Logan and Chaudri caught him up on what he'd missed. His heart went cold when he heard about Bravo Team.

I did that, didn't I?

Raptor Tech never would have found the island facility if he hadn't used the jack of spades. They'd played him.

I was just trying to save my own life. I didn't think it would cost others theirs.

The thought made him sick. It was all he could do to keep his face under control.

If the company discovered his role in the breaches, he'd never get off this island alive. That fact was written all over Logan's face, when he talked about Bravo. Maybe it was a good thing Thorisson had escaped. He was the only one who could give Quinn up.

Again, it was a treacherous thought. But hadn't he done what he could to make amends? Hadn't he saved them time and time again?

I'm not sure it'll be enough.

He shoved the thoughts away and turned to Chaudri. “So, are you glad you went?”

“Oh, most definitely. It's given me a great deal of insight into Alissian culture and society. Things I didn't realize until I was there among them.” Her eyes were shining.

“Maybe it's time to drop the ‘interim' from your title,” Quinn said.

Chaudri cleared her throat. “You're probably right. And that means I'm responsible for our research write-­ups. I'd better go get started.” She nodded to both of them and hurried out of the conference room.

“There's a spring in her step,” Quinn said.

“She did pretty well over there,” Logan said. “To be honest, I was worried about her.”

“You were worried about everyone.”

“That's my job. So I'll ask you the same question. Are you glad you went?”

“More than you know,” Quinn said. “In fact, I'll bet you a bottle of Valteroni liquor that I get to go back again.”

“Developed a taste for the good stuff, eh? Don't tell me you managed to smuggle a bottle back.”

“Sadly, no. But I know a guy.”

“Oh, I'm sure. But I'll take that bet,” Logan said. “Pretty sure we won't need a magician from this point on.”

“There's more to me than just quick fingers.”

“That's what I keep hearing.” Logan scratched his chin. “I must be missing something.”

“You usually are.”

Kiara joined them a minute later. Her face was a mask, but Quinn noted the slight hesitance in her movements. That was one of her tells, the one that meant “reluctantly following orders.”

“My superiors asked me to convey their gratitude,” she said. “You played your part well, and collected some valuable intelligence besides.”

“You're welcome,” Quinn said. He left it at that and waited. Negotiations 101: let the other party start.

“We agreed to a six-­month engagement, and the company believes that contract has been met already. The funds have already been wired to your accounts.”

“And the equipment?”

She frowned. “Yours to take, though I'll remind you that almost everything you designed has proprietary technology in it. If anything should fall into the hands of our competitors, you'll be fully responsible.”

“Don't worry, I'll take precautions.” ­People were always coming after his stuff; it was a way of life for the Vegas magician. He waited again.

“Do you think you'd be welcomed back by the Enclave, if you were to return?” she asked.

Ah, here it came at last.
“Moric certainly made it sound that way,” Quinn said.

“Could you bring a small group posing as magicians, maybe get them in?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Nope.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“It's magicians only in that place. Not even Holt was allowed there, and I think we can agree he's got more influence than any of us.”

She tapped her pen against the conference table for a few beats. If the jab about Holt bothered her, she didn't show it. “Moric brought you there as a candidate. You hadn't proven yourself then.”

“He brought me there as a criminal.” He gave her a little smile. “Funny how all of those mission briefings failed to cover the fact that impersonating a magician is a crime over there.”

“You landed on your feet, didn't you? And you've managed to infiltrate one of the most powerful groups in Alissia.”

“It almost cost me my life. I still had to win them over, which wasn't easy,” Quinn said. “I think it would go badly if I tried to get someone in. That's the honest truth.”
Or most of it anyway.

Her lips twisted downward. Knowing Kiara, though, he wagered she was ready for this possibility. There would be a backup proposal, and probably another one after that.

“Would you be interested in returning there?” she asked. “Alone?”

More than you can possibly imagine.
“What's in it for me?”

Logan snickered. “You can take a magician out of Vegas . . .”

“I don't suppose you'll volunteer as your patriotic duty?” Kiara asked.

“We don't work for the government, last time I checked,” Quinn said.

“No, we do not,” she said. “We work for an organization that knows the home address of every single living relative you have. Whose subsidiaries employ some of them. Whose financial division holds the mortgage on your friend Rudy's theater.”

Quinn felt a chill down his back as she spoke. He didn't let the fear show, only the anger. “That's starting to sound like a threat, Lieutenant.”

She put her hands flat on the conference table and exhaled slowly. “It's a
reminder
, Bradley. Don't get cute with us. You have no idea what the company has at stake here.”

“Oh, I have a fair idea,” Quinn countered. For once, he knew nearly as much as she did about it. “But you don't see me running to any news outlets. I just want a piece of the action.”

“How large a piece?” she asked. “Give me a number.”

“Ten.”

Her eyes widened, which was the Kiara equivalent of shouting. “Ten
million
?”

“Oh, no. I didn't mean money—­although that's not a bad starting place. But no, that's what I want my security clearance to be. It puts me two below Chaudri, twelve below Logan, and still a bit more below yourself.” Yet it meant he'd finally have access to learn about some of the stuff they'd been keeping from him.

“You're not supposed to know our clearance levels,” Logan said. “You don't have the—­”

“Clearance,” Quinn cut in. “Yes, I'm aware. But I'm about to. If you want my help, you're going to have to read me in. A lot more than you have.”

“That may be possible,” Kiara said. “What else?”

“I want some time off, to perform back in Vegas. Major casino, on the Strip.” The very thing they'd robbed him of months ago, and he hadn't forgotten. He just had to do it at least once. He'd promised his parents that much. Besides, with the new equipment, he could really dazzle a Vegas audience. Get his photo up on the wall, and show them that he belonged there. Even if he might actually belong somewhere else.

“You want the company to
encourage
one of them to hire you?”

“That wouldn't work. I just need some well-­connected ­people who could vouch for me. I'll handle the part of being good enough to perform there.”

She shrugged. “If that's what you want.”

“Even you can't bully the big casinos into putting my name on the neon sign.”

She had no reaction to that. No frown, no scowl. Another one of her tells.

“Unless the company happens to
own
one of the big casinos,” Quinn ventured.

Still nothing. Of course. Why hadn't he seen it before?

“Which is it?” he asked. “The Venetian? Treasure Island? No,” he said, and he waved her off. “Don't tell me. But that will make this a lot easier.”

“We agree on that much,” Kiara said.

“I would have made it on my own, you know,” Quinn said. “They were almost ready for me. Right when you showed up.”

“I'm sure they were. What else?”

“If I agree to this, I'll need more training. From ­people like him.” He gestured at Logan. “And Chaudri, and the other researchers.”

“You're smarter than I thought, Bradley,” she said.

He gave her a grin. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Is that the end of your list of demands? No knighthood or mansion or private island?”

“Gods, no,” he said. “Hey! I said it right that time.” He looked at both of them. “There's just one more request, and I have a feeling it might be the hardest one.”

Kiara sat up, as if steeling herself. “Let's hear it.”

“I want to meet Richard Holt. Face-­to-­face.”

Her pupils dilated, and she smiled. He couldn't remember ever seeing a smile on her face before. There was something wicked about this one. “Now there's a meeting I'll be happy to arrange in person.”