The Silent Army (11 page)

I’m here now.

The first time I met Calliope Flax was in a parking garage after a revivor tried to kill her. The last time I’d seen her was after her interrogation, banged up and fuzzy from the dope. She was third tier, a heartbeat away from living on the street. The reward I sent her way for the tip she provided didn’t even cover her medical bills, and I knew that without help she was going under. I suggested the service.

Later she disappeared. When I finally tracked her down, I found out she was stationed in Yambio.

I could hear the beat from outside as I approached the front of the place. Pushing through the heavy door, I walked into a dark room full of loud music. It was packed full of tough-looking customers. A few guys looked at me, noting the reflection from the JZI. Word started spreading that a cop just walked in.

I looked around but I didn’t see her. Between the darkness, the smoke, and the bodies it was hard to spot anyone.

I’m here. Where are you?

Downstairs.

A set of stairs led to a basement floor where a second bar was set up in front of a bank of video screens. Sitting alone near the top of the steps was a woman who looked out of place. She was well dressed, with a plain wool cap that didn’t match the outfit. The only thing she had in common with the other patrons was her tattoo: a snake that ringed her neck, then swallowed its tail. She was sitting at a table without a drink in front of her. She looked bored.

When I started to move past her, she looked up with bright blue eyes and waved for me to come closer. I held up my hand to indicate I was meeting someone else and couldn’t stop, and she reached out and took it. The second her cold fingers touched my hand, she zeroed in on a pressure point and sent a jolt up my forearm. She smiled faintly when she saw my surprise, and pulled me gently toward her table.

“I’m Penny,” she shouted over the music.

“Can I have my hand back?” She let go and I flexed my fingers.

“You’re kind of cute,” she said, reaching toward my face. I went to stop her, and she brushed my hand away casually. She touched my cheek, then ran her fingers through my hair.

“Are you always this forward?”

“What’s the matter? Are you not used to being touched by a woman?”

The truth was that I wasn’t. Not anymore. She seemed satisfied by my lack of an answer, taking her hand away.

“So you’re him, huh?”

“Him who?”

Her pupils widened, and I felt dizzy for a second. It passed almost immediately, and her eyes went back to normal.

“You are him. You’re Nico Wachalowski,” she shouted.

“Okay, you got my attention. Who are you?”

She leaned closer, putting her lips to my ear.

“Someone wants to meet with you,” she said.

“You don’t say.”

“I do say.”

“And who would that be?”

“Motoko Ai.”

I remembered Sean’s words scrawled on the bathroom mirror:
Motoko Ai . . . she will contact you soon.

“Should I know that name?” I asked.

“She has information you’ll be interested in.”

“What kind of information?”

“Information about Samuel Fawkes.”

If she didn’t have my attention before, she had it then. She leaned back, looking satisfied. Her big eyes looked me up and down.

“I guess I can see why she’s into you,” she said.

“What?”

“Not Ai. She’s not interested in stuff like that. I mean Zoe.”

“Are you a friend of Zoe’s?”

“Sort of. Tell me; are you just completely clueless?”

“What?”

“Because if you are, then open your eyes, and if you aren’t, then stop being careless with her.”

The whole thing caught me off guard. Before I could answer, she changed the subject again.

“Will you meet with Ai?”

“Where?”

“We’ll set it up through Zoe.”

“Zoe?”

“She’s coming too. Will you come?”

“Yes.”

“The events of two years ago were nothing, Mr. Wachalowski. Please be there.”

Before I could answer, she hopped off her stool and gave me a wave as she moved off into the crowd.

You get lost or what?
Cal.

No. Keep your pants on.

I made my way downstairs and found her standing against the far wall with a big guy on either side of her. She looked like I remembered, with the same cropped hair and the same crooked nose. Somewhere inside me, tension let go; she was in one piece. She was talking to a black man with a cauliflower ear when she noticed me and waved. When she smiled, I saw she never replaced the missing tooth.

What are you drinking?
I asked.

You buying?

Sure.

Whiskey. Straight up.

I got the bartender’s attention and let him scan my card. With a glass in each hand, I made my way over to her. The two guys were gone before I got there.

“Friends of yours?” I asked, handing one over.

“Fight buddies,” she said. She took it and drank half without blinking.

“You get set up okay?”

“Yeah. Guy named Buckster from that group Second Chance picked me up. They set me up with a place.”

Second Chance. Sean had written that on his bathroom mirror, minutes before he disappeared.

“Who set you up?” I asked.

“Second Chance,” she said. “They work with vets. What’s the problem? You look like you just shit yourself.”

I ran a search on the organization. It was like Cal said; they were big on fund-raising for vets and charity work. They ran free clinics in some of the worst neighborhoods. They were also one of the biggest referrers for Posthumous Service recruits, funneling third-tier citizens to recruitment centers to get wired. Centers like Concrete Falls.

“What was your contact’s name again?” I asked.

“Leon Buckster. Seriously, what’s up?”

I shook my head.

“Probably nothing,” I said. “Keep an eye open for me though, would you?”

“Keep an eye open for what?”

“Anything to do with revivors.”

“Hell,” she said, “he was trying to get some hobo to wire up when I stepped off the fucking train. I figured he got a kickback or something. Does this have to do with a case?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Just keep an eye open. Have you found a job yet?”

“Still working on that.”

“Will you go back to the arena?”

Can’t.

She held up her left hand so I could see it. Even in the dim light, I could see the black veins standing out.

Sorry,
I said.
I didn’t know.

Ugly, huh?

I’ve seen worse. The hand’s not a bad match. Where’s the join?

She pulled the sleeve of her jacket up so I could see where the skin changed color. Inside there was a thin filter, a piece of revivor tech that handled the nerve and muscle interaction and kept the living side from attacking the necrotized one. A small circulator ran the revivor blood through the limb. It wasn’t a bad job.

How’s it working out for you?

She shrugged like it was no big deal, but I could see it was.

Do you get used to it?

Not really.

I did some digging. You made a name for yourself over there.

She shrugged again, like it was no big deal, but, honestly, it was. With no formal education, she’d gone from grunt status to full control over a squad of revivors in less than two years. In that short time, the bandits who ran the area learned to know her by a name they themselves had given her.

I’m impressed,
I said.

Yeah?

Yes.

How impressed?

I wasn’t sure what she meant. When I didn’t answer, she gritted her teeth, then leaned forward and grabbed my lapel. She put her lips near my ear and I could smell the whiskey on her breath.

“I know the score,” she said. “A tour buys you a leg up, but that’s it. I’m done with the grind and I can’t fight anymore, but I didn’t lose my hand over there to come back and flip burgers.”

She sighed, breath hot on my neck, then leaned back and let go of my coat.

“Before I left, you told me I could be more than I was,” she said. “You said if I busted my ass, it could all be mine. You mean that?”

“I did.”

The reality was that if she hadn’t enlisted, Calliope would have ended up in jail, in a shelter, or on the street. The housing project where she was holed up got shut down while she was gone, and the police had forced everybody out. Some were arrested, and the rest slipped through the cracks. With no education, money, or assets, and sitting at tier three with no way to get any, she would have lost what little she had.

I told myself that when I looked at her hand.

“Well, here I am,” she said.

The military had changed her. She looked more in control and more focused. I thought I could help her. I owed her that much. In some ways, I owed her my life.

Ex-military, especially decorated ones, pulled a lot of weight.
I have some contacts. What can you do?

I’m wired to run revivors—units or groups. I know weapons and intel extraction
.

That wasn’t bad, actually. It would be easy, even after coming back, for someone like her to end up back where she started. It would be a waste.

How did you like soldiering?

Better than flipping burgers.
I raised my eyebrows, and she changed her tone.

I liked it,
she said.

There’s always private military. Stillwell Corps takes a lot of soldiers on after their tours. It’s good pay, access to the latest tech, and some great training.

She thought about that, and I could see the idea take root. She nodded.

That sounds okay
, she said.

Let me put out some feelers.

She smiled and nodded again. She punched me in the arm.
Thanks.

The smile went away and she looked at the floor. Her tongue poked through the gap where her tooth was missing.

Thanks for writing me over there too.

No problem.

You do that because you thought you had to?

At first.

The truth was, I did it because I didn’t think anyone else would. Any kind of contact from back home was a big deal over there. I kept the messages short, and wrote three times without hearing back. After that, I stopped. It was months later when, out of the blue, I got a message back from her. After that, it got to be a regular thing. I kept her up on things she asked about, and she told me stories about day-to-day downtime in the middle of a war zone, something I knew well. She never talked about combat or any of the bloodshed I knew she must have seen. I never asked.

Yeah, well, thanks.

I liked hearing from you. It took me back.

I’ll bet.

We going to stay friends?

We’ll see.

She smiled, eyelids drooping. She was drunk.

You worry about me?

I did, a little.

A call came in as she shook her glass at the bartender across the room.

Incoming call.
It was headquarters. I held up one hand while I picked up.

Wachalowski here.

Agent, your victim, Holst, from the raid. She’s dead.

I thought she was stable.

She was. Someone assassinated her right there in the hospital.

What?

Your operative was the only one with her when it happened.

What are you saying? Zoe shot her?

I’m not saying anything. I’m just telling you what happened.

Where is Zoe now?

She fled the scene.

That would have been hours ago. If it was true, she had to be losing it by now.

Do not let them bring her in, understand? I’ll find her.

I’ll do what I can, but—

Don’t let them bring her in.

Calliope was looking at me and I noticed her scowl.

“You got somewhere else you got to be?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, official business. Have a few drinks on me. We’ll have to catch up later.” Her scowl deepened.

Who is Zoe Ott?

That took me by surprise. Cal hadn’t seen Zoe since the factory, when she pulled her out of Fawkes’s holding pens. She hadn’t said anything about it even under direct questioning. I had assumed that Zoe made her forget, though she never admitted to it.

I ran a check on my JZI, and found a brief intrusion. She’d been monitoring the wire for references to Zoe, and when she got a hit she’d snooped at least part of the conversation. I’d underestimated Calliope Flax.

Cal, listening in on FBI communications is a felony—

Who is she, Wachalowski?

She was one of the people we recovered from the underground factory when it was infiltrated.

I know that. I was there. I mean, who is she?

What do you mean?

Her mouth parted to show the gap from her missing tooth, and her eyes got serious.

Look, I saw her at the FBI. I know you know what I’m talking about. What is the deal with that spooky little bitch? What did she do to me?

I didn’t have a good answer for that. She needed one, I could see, but I didn’t have one for her.

Don’t tell me you don’t know her,
she said.

I know her.

Did she make me forget?

If she was asking, then she knew the answer to that. I wasn’t sure what Zoe had done to her, exactly, but I knew it was something. Cal needed someone—me—to verify that, but there were more of them out there than just Zoe. That kind of knowledge could be dangerous.

You saved her life. Do you remember going underground?