No Matter What
The face of Babylon changed with the seasons. Properties changed hands somewhat more slowly. All across the city, dilapidated buildings languished in a state of unnatural life, abandoned by the original owners, unwanted by all, unable to return to the earth.
A stone’s throw from Riverfront, 892 York was in a sorry state. Once a public housing project, it had been condemned after a surprise inspection by Babylon’s housing authorities. The landlord deemed it cheaper to let go of the property than to overhaul it. In the twenty years since, no one else had claimed the run-down lot.
Wild weeds overran the front lawn. Graffiti scrawled across the walls. The windows were all smashed out. Shreds of discolored cloths that might have once been curtains fluttered in the breeze. The empty doorway gaped like a yawning mouth. A flimsy chain link fence surrounded the block, rusted over with the passage of years. Barely anyone visited the place now.
Which made it perfect for a field interrogation.
A cheap lock held the gate closed. Yuri defeated it in just over ten seconds. Swinging the rusted gate open, he drew his handgun and entered the building.
An air of overwhelming desolation engulfed him. Rubble covered the lobby. The stench of ancient waste and dried-up bodily fluids wafted from the corners. The elevator shafts opened into a long drop filled with garbage and debris.
The basement reeked of decay. Paint peeled off the walls. Bare pipes extruded from random corners. Here and there, potholes opened in the floor, disappearing into blackened earth. What few doors remained stood open, exposing barren rooms and boarded-up units.
He took his time exploring the place, mapping out no-go zones, plotting his route. When he returned to the lobby, he checked his eyeshields. One message from Kayla.
Spotter team neutralized. 1 prisoner. En route to Cesspit. 20 minutes.
That was fifteen minutes ago.
Yuri hid himself by a window, pistol in hand, and waited.
Exactly five minutes later, a gray van pulled up outside the building. A man in a set of blue overalls climbed out the front cab. He opened the rear and hauled out a banged-up man, his hands tied behind his back, a blindfold tied around his head. Right behind the detainee, a woman helped him out the vehicle, then closed the door.
Kayla, Karim, and their captive.
The former operators hustled the prisoner inside. Yuri waved them over to him, then led them down the stairs. In silence, he indicated the danger areas, guiding the group around them. He brought them to an abandoned apartment, the most run-down of them all, and positioned himself in the middle of the living room.
Kayla and Karim forced the prisoner down on his knees. Debris dug into flesh and bone. The captive gasped, but said nothing.
“Don’t make any trouble,” Karim warned. “We’re watching you.”
The captive contracted into himself and went completely still. Karim stood watch. In a neighboring room, Yuri and Kayla examined the recovered items.
The keys were a mystery, though they appeared identical. Likely they were the keys to the apartment. The wallets held only cash and coins. No ID. The backpacks held two changes of clothing each, all of them lacking logos and labels, along with toiletries.
The spotters were pros, used to operating sterile.
The tac gear was as individual as the men. They ran full-length OZ-72s, bland and generic, the pistol of choice of cops and soldiers and hitmen the world over. They had two carbine mags and two pistol mags each, but one man ran them on separate pouches, while the other mounted his pistol mag pouches on his carbine magazine pouches. The magazines came from different manufacturers. They both had first aid kits, but one of them had a small blowout kit, just enough to treat the most common and severe medical emergencies, while the other was a full-sized pouch worn on the small of the back. Both men had flashlights, knives and multitools, but like the mags, they were as individual as the user.
And there was the folding knife. Desert Forge, reputed for hard use, a favorite of those who worked with blades for a living.
The captured M83 carbines were tailored to the end user. One had a holographic weapon sight, optimized for close quarters encounters. The other had a red dot paired with a 4x magnifier. Lights, lasers and grips adorned the accessory rails. Both weapons wore suppressors, but the one with the holosight had a shorter and fatter model than the other. The carbine with the magnifier had a 16-inch barrel, useful for all—round work, while the other had a 12-incher, optimized for close quarters.
The eyeshields were locked, of course. Kayla had transported them in RFID-blocking bags. Yuri checked the devices just long enough to determine that they were functional, then set them aside. Removing them from the bags could give the opposition an opportunity to track them. Instead, he dug out the loot Karim had grabbed from Turnbull’s home. A slim laptop.
He powered up the laptop, then inserted a modified wireless dongle into a port. He borrowed a cable from Kayla, broke out his own, then connected the eyeshields to the computer. Just like that, it would allow Zen to remotely access all three machines.
Standing in a corner, Yuri pondered the story of the gear. The equipment was similar, but not the same. The men had drawn from personal kit, or at least personalized kit. They weren’t issued standardized gear for the mission. Someone higher up had told them what kit they needed for the job, and they’d outfitted themselves from their own arsenals.
The high-end weapons spoke volumes. Powerful backers with deep bankrolls. Suppliers willing to look the other way, or partners who could supply the right paperwork. No expectation to ditch the gear after the job, even after a firefight. This was how soldiers, cops and high-end contractors kitted out their gear, gear they’d expect to reuse after a job. Nobody wanted to throw away a weapon system that cost tens of thousands of dollars if they could help it.
They weren’t expecting to shoot someone. But if they had to, they had someone who would ensure that the evidence would disappear somewhere, that law enforcement knew not to ask too many questions.
In other words, the New Gods.
Which meant the spotters were their soldiers. Not contractors. The New Gods wouldn’t go to bat for mere mercenaries. They preferred to handle problems in-house, unless for some reason they need deniability, and there was nothing deniable about their gear.
The weapons hinted at experience in military, law enforcement, private contracting. The pack discipline implied recon, special operations, operators who needed to move quickly at a second’s notice. The non-uniform uniformity indicated that these men came from a decentralized but professional organization. The higher-ups allowed the trigger pullers a great deal of leeway in gear selection, so long as they got the job done. That ruled out most conventional military and police units. Everybody on the team needed to know where everybody else kept their gear. Their mags, their tools, most importantly, their first aid supplies.
The New Gods each maintained a militant wing, with differing degrees of organization and centralization. Yuri immediately ruled out the Singularity Network and the Void Collective. Hive minds didn’t allow their soldiers this degree of uniformity. The Court of Shadows warred on a budget and preferred to once-use throwaway gear; they wouldn’t use high-end stuff like this, not unless they absolutely had to. The Liberated had no need to send Yuri to hit their own Elect, not when they had plenty of killers in-house. While the Guild of the Maker operated in semi-decentralized networks, their Guardians operated in tight-knit teams.
This left the Pantheon and the Seekers of the Way. Of the two, Yuri decided the second was more likely. The kshatriya of the Pantheon would have reacted poorly the moment the Prime recited the Holy Names. Mr. One’s stoicism was calculated to keep Yuri from provoking him into revealing vital information, but the lack of reaction was itself the final piece of the puzzle, revealing the faction he served.
In quiet whispers, Kayla debriefed Yuri, describing the raid from start to finish. Yuri let her speak until she was done, then posed a single question.
“What kind of power did the security man possess?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “There wasn’t a surge of energy like you’d normally see in magical abilities. He might have been a total body cyborg.”
“Only the Singularity Network fields TBCs. Do you have proof he was one?”
“I didn’t see any signs of metal or circuitry around him. But we were in a rush. Maybe he had some kind of subdermal armor. Or a passive ability that absorbs low-velocity rounds. Something like what Turnbull had, only much lower profile.”
That was disquieting. Subdermal armor wasn’t new, but it wasn’t common either. It was meant to be the ultimate in low-profile body armor. Early designs were too bulky, too visible and too fragile. Modern ones were too expensive for general use. Or so was the general consensus, until now.
Technology and tactics inevitably march on.
“Did the spotter manifest any powers?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Karim that.”
Karim and Kayla swapped places. Yuri repeated his question to him.
“He was pledged to a demon,” Karim confirmed. “I saw the tethers in his soul leading to the demon. It wasn’t a particularly powerful one, though. A frog-like creature, about the size of your head.”
“He didn’t fire his powers?”
“I didn’t give him a chance. The second I took him down, I cast magic on him. Severed the links between him and the demon.”
Yuri scowled. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a massive shock to the soul. Especially if the target was unwilling. The demon might have ripped out a part of his soul as it left.”
“The spotter seemed out of it when we extracted him.”
“Yeah, his soul was ripped.”
Karim winced. “What are the consequences?”
“Loss of vitality. Blunting of positive emotions, sharpening of negative ones. Long-term health impact…” Yuri shook his head. “Doesn’t change the tactical equation, but what goes around comes around. You don’t want this kind of karma.”
“What should I do?”
“Do what I do. Mute the demon. Keep it from influencing the target, and the target from reaching the demon. It’s not full depossession, but it’s good enough until we transport the subject to a secure environment.”
“I see…” Karim nodded. “I’ll do that next time.”
“How did you learn how to do that spell anyway?”
“I spent weeks in deep meditation, in growing my connection with Galen, and in testing out new powers. That spell was one of them.”
“He didn’t tell you about the aftereffects?”
“No. He just said it would disrupt the connection between an Elect and his god.”
Yuri didn’t look forward to his next conversation with the wolf god. But right now, he had more important things to do.
Yuri returned to the prisoner. Karim and Kayla positioned themselves behind him. A tortured expression crossed the man’s face.
Yuri pursed his lips. A stress position was torture, and torture was illegal. And, arguably, unethical. On the other hand, without a badge, without an organization backing him, what else could he do to pressure the target? To gain leverage? To break him?
And besides, no one had told the detainee that he could not move.
He steeled his heart with a breath. Lowered the emotional bulkheads in his mind. And spoke.
“Detainee. I have good news and better news. Which do you want first?”
The detainee turned his head towards Yuri, but remained silent.
“Good news. Better news. Which?”
The detainee said nothing.
“He asked you a question!” Karim barked.
The detainee startled.
Yuri squatted down, looking at the blindfolded man in the face.
“Which do you want to hear first?” Yuri asked.
“Good news,” the detainee whispered.
Yuri rose to his feet and paced around the man.
“The good news is, you’re going to live. No matter what.”
The man perked up. A little.
“The better news is, you get to choose your fate.”
The detainee cocked his head, as though in puzzlement. Yuri continued to pace around him. Round and round and round he went, the scraping of his boots the only sound in the room, until at last the detainee spoke.
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
“Choose to cooperate, and we will hand you over to our friends in the Public Security Bureau. Choose to not cooperate, and life will get even more unpleasant for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Feisty, aren’t you? I want you to understand that the sooner you cooperate, the sooner this will end.”
“I’m not telling you shit.”
Yuri laughed.
“I haven’t even asked you any questions yet.”
“I know who you are. You’re Yuri Yamamoto. Just get it over and done with already.”
“Despair is a mortal sin, my friend. As I said before, you will live. No matter what. But you, and only you, get to choose how long this ordeal lasts.”
“I choose this!”
The prisoner reared up on his knees. Shifting his weight, he prepared to get up.
Yuri planted his palm on his crown and pressed down.
The detainee plonked back down on his knees. He gasped, more out of surprise than pain. He tried to resist, but Yuri felt the subtle shifts of weight through his crown, and adjusted his own weight to counter the movements.
“You’re not going anywhere until we say you’re leaving.”
The resistance was a good sign. It meant the prisoner had snapped out of his fugue. He was ready for questioning.
“Why were you watching the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity?” Yuri asked.
The prisoner clammed up.
Yuri released him.
Tilted his head up.
And pulled the blindfold off his head.
The detainee gasped.
“You were watching me, weren’t you?” Yuri whispered.
The man blinked.
“You were watching the church. Gathering intel on everyone who visited the church. That’s how you knew about my connection to the church. And to Primate Bartholomew,” Yuri continued.
“That’s not true!”
“You had a high-powered telescope aimed at the entrances of the church. Surely you’re not peeking on women in the shower. Or old men, for that matter.”
Kayla covered her mouth and laughed in silence. The detainee blinked and looked down.
“Look at me,” Yuri said.
The detainee glued his eyes to the floor.
Yuri grabbed his chin and tilted it upwards.
“Look. At. Me.”
The detainee looked at Yuri in the eye. And flinched.
“You and your partners were working static surveillance. You were feeding intelligence on the church to Mr. One. An easy job. Shame it turned out that way.”
“I don’t know this Mr. One.”
“Then who were you working for? You’re obvious not doing this on your own dime.”
The detainee looked away again. Yuri squatted, bringing his head up to eye level.
“Who is Mr. One?”
“I don’t know!” he sputtered.
Yuri released him. And stood.
“There is something I want you to understand. I’m not interested in you. You’re small fry. You’re nothing. Nobody. I don’t care about you. I care about who hired you.”
The detainee gritted his teeth.
“You’re not going to convince me that no one hired you. You’re small time. There’s no reason you’d be watching the church on your own dime. No. Someone hired you and your late but unlamented partner. Someone in need of expendable mooks like you, so he won’t get his hands dirty—”
“I’m not small time.”
“Oh? You want to prove it?”
“I know who you are, Yamamoto. Military special forces, Special Tasks Section, and now some wannabe hero.” The detainee snorted. “I was military too. And unlike you, I don’t have to live like a cockroach.”
“Anyone can say he’s ex-military.”
“You saw my gear.”
“So? You think you’re a hard man, aren’t you? Small fry like you? Stop dreaming. You don’t have anywhere near my kill count.”
“Oh yeah? I fought… I…”
His voice trailed away.
“Go on,” Yuri prompted. “Who did you fight for?”
“The fuck does it matter to you anyway?”
He was so close. He’d deliberately provoked the detainee, poking at his ego, trying to trip him up. The detainee had seen the trap at the last second.
“I know what I fight for. Honor. Duty. Country. God. What do you fight for? Money?” Yuri snorted theatrically. “That makes you street scum.”
“You said you fight for God. Your god is a lie. He hasn’t shown his face at all. You worship someone who doesn’t exist.”
“You worship money. There’s nothing backing it except the belief that it’s worth something. How’s that any different?”
“Money is real. Your god isn’t.”
“Which is why I’m standing over here, and you are kneeling over there. What does that say about our positions?”
“I’m not alone. There’s an army behind me. You know what’s good for you, you better start running.”
“You and what army?”
“There are thousands of us! We have allies in the government, the police, the military! We can mobilize in an instant! All you’re doing is prolonging the inevitable.”
“You don’t have a god. I do. And that _thing _you were pledged to? We got rid of it as easily as snapping our fingers.”
The detainee snarled.
“We don’t need gods. We are as gods.”
“That makes you a Seeker of the Way.”
The detainee went pale. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped. He sucked down a breath and looked away.
He was close to breaking. All that pressure on his knees would cause immense pain, then muscle failure. He would be desperate to talk, to distract himself from the pain, to find a way to stop the suffering.
“You work for Mr. One, don’t you?” Yuri said softly. “That makes him a Seeker too. What do the Seekers want?”
“You know the answer,” he mumbled.
“To kick out the Liberated from Riverfront.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why’? You of all people should know the answer. The New Gods have always been fighting each other for turf. This is just the latest round.”
“You and the Liberated are perfectly capable of killing each other without dragging me into it. Why now?”
“I’m small fry, like you said. The boss gives orders, I carry them out. It’s not my place to ask why.”
“First you said you weren’t small fry. Now you said you are. Which is it?”
The detainee clicked his tongue.
“I’m a soldier. That’s all. I was given a job, I carried it out. I didn’t ask why.”
“What’s your boss’ name?”
The detainee licked his lips.
“Look, we don’t use real names. You know how it goes. He called himself Mr. One. He had the right bona fides. The higher-ups vouched for him. That’s all I needed to know.”
“Where can we find him?”
“He never told me that.”
“What about the rest of your team?”
“You killed my partner. There’s no one else.”
“There were at least eight people involved in this op. Who are they?”
“I don’t know. We were separated from each other. Operational security. You should know that.”
“What’s your role in this op?”
“Like you said. Watch the church. Report your movements, and the movements of persons of interest. That’s all.”
“You were watching the church during the snatch, too?”
“I…” He nodded. “Yeah. We were on overwatch.”
“Were you assigned to take me out too?”
“No! Only observation, I swear.”
The weapon configurations backed up the statement. The carbines were set up for close quarters and mid-range shots. Not precision fire. Nonetheless, Yuri had to make sure.
“Were there any other observation teams?”
“Just us.”
“What about assault teams? Snatch teams?”
“Don’t know anything about those.”
“Where did you take the Primate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you take the books from his office?”
“What books? I don’t know anything about those books.”
“You don’t know anything at all.”
“That’s right. I’m just small fry.”
A hint of smugness crept into the detainee’s voice.
Yuri stepped back, as if to contemplate the answers. He circled the detainee, round and round and round, saying nothing, revealing nothing, just letting the silence build, and build, until—
“I answered your questions,” the detainee said. “Are you going to release me?”
“Sure,” Yuri said. “To the Liberated.”
“The what? Why?”
“Someone killed one of their Elect earlier today. They will want to know why. They will want revenge. As it transpires, I have someone from the Seekers of the Way, who was involved in the op. If I give you to them, they might give me a reward.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I was serious when I told you that I don’t care about you. What happens to you is of no concern to me. All I care about is rescuing the Primate. If I give you to the Liberated, they might be able to help me with that.”
“You’re STS! Why would you give me to your enemies?”
“I’m not in the STS anymore.”
“You killed Turnbull!”
“So? The Liberated can’t possibly hate me more than they already do. I’ve been hiding out from them for years, and I can continue to do so. But with the resources they have at their disposal, they might be able to rescue the Primate for me. Or at least wipe out the team that kidnapped him.”
“You’re mad!”
Yuri bowed.
“Thank you.”
The detainee gaped.
“Well, if you have nothing useful to tell me, I’ll hand you over to the Liberated and let them decide what to do about you,” Yuri said.
“You said you’d release me to the PSB!”
“There are plenty of Liberated Special Agents. I have many friends in the PSB. I simply need to make a phone call to ensure that the Liberated will pick you up. After that, well, it’s not in my hands anymore.”
“You lied to me!”
“Right from the start, I told you that you would live, no matter what. That’s not a lie. The Liberated will let you live, although I don’t need to tell you that their idea of ‘live’ is just a technicality. You know as well as I do what they can do with their magic and their biotech, and what they will do to enemies that fall into their hands.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“You chose this. Through your words, you told me your choice. I’m simply carrying out what you’ve chosen. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless you have something I’ll find useful.”
With every word he spoke, Yuri felt his soul blacken. But what else could he do? How could he not use everything he had at his disposal to break the detainee? Already he had to hold himself from putting hands on the detainee, any more than what he had already done.
Surely God would understand, with time.
The detainee gnawed on his lower lip. His eyes flickered from side to side. His heart was wavering. Yuri judged he was at the decision point. All he needed was a final push.
Yuri lowered himself to the detainee’s eye level.
“You’re running out of time,” he said.
The detainee would surely be feeling that. By now, his knees would be in excruciating pain. Sweat rolled down his face in profuse rivers. His clothing was plastered to his body. He was in a state of extreme agitation, and in that state, everything felt urgent.
“If I tell you, will you give me to the PSB? The real PSB?”
“Depends on what you mean by that.”
“Seculars. Not the Liberated.”
“I can get you one better.”
“Oh?”
“I know people who can help you. Keep you in protective custody. You’ll be safe from the Liberated and the Seekers. But that’s only if the information checks out. Otherwise…”
The detainee squeezed his eyes shut.
“An address. I can give you an address.”
“What address?”
“The office of the Seekers in Riverfront. The Primate may be in there. Even if he’s not, you might be able to find someone or something that might lead you to him.”
“You’re going to do one better than that.”
“Which is?”
“You’re going to take us there.”
You can wait for a week for this story to pan out. Or you can get the complete story, plus three more, on Amazon here!