Psion Delta (33 page)

Justice
expanded the view of the area and centered it onto a horseshoe-shaped street.
Dozens of houses lined the outside of the horseshoe and several more formed an
inner loop. “That wild word is the street name. The targets’ victim owned the
house with the orange-ish roof here. I’m thinking we stake out the place for
eight to ten hours. See what we observe. If everything seems normal, we move
in. If we catch something fishy, we call in backup and do it as a full
squadron.”

The
house with the orange roof had a fenced-in backyard, but beyond the yard was an
open country of fields and hills.
Perfect for surveillance
.

“Yeah,
I’m thinking the same thing you are, kid,” Justice said. The title rankled
Sammy. “Hide out in the hills and we should have a great view of the house’s
backside. Park two people in that area, another one keeping an eye on the
front. The last two will canvas the neighborhood and ask if anyone has seen any
suspicious activity.”

“That
will look obvious, won’t it? Two Alphas walking around?”

Justice
clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes around the room. “Yeah,” then he grinned,
“but I got an idea.”

Justice
explained the plan to the team, and everyone pitched in with the preparations.
They spent the evening going over contingencies and then went to bed early to
rest up for the next day. Early in the morning, they went to work. Justice and
Nikotai took the watch in the hills to the west of the house, hidden under
camouflage with binoculars and radio. Avni Maru, undercover in jogging gear,
stayed in a parked car around the corner, away enough that she couldn’t be
spotted from any windows in the house with the orange roof. Al and Sammy were
dressed as two religious missionaries: white shirts, black slacks, name tags,
and backpacks. Instead of pamphlets or books, they carried weapons and other
gear that might be useful.

“I
look stupid,” Sammy said. “Who is Elder Marbury?”

Al
smiled. “Hey, you know what Jesus said? ‘I came not to bring peace, but a
sword.’”

Sammy
laughed. “Did he really say that?”

Once
surveillance was in place, Sammy and Al began knocking on doors around the
circle. It was a Saturday. The weather was warm and humid, but not unbearably
so. Most of the residents were home, but wanted nothing to do with Sammy and Al
until they forcefully explained that they were undercover agents canvassing the
area for signs of any suspicious activity. Not long past noon, they had visited
every house in the neighborhood except the house where the targets were
suspected to be staying.

“Still
no sign of anything?” Al asked Justice over the com.

“Nothing.
That house is as dead as my pet gerbil that tried to pick a fight with my dog.”

“Should
we knock on the door to keep up our cover?”

Justice
didn’t answer right away. Sammy wondered if his honcho was consulting the Magic
8-Ball for an answer.

“Yeah,
let’s go for it,” Justice said. “Avni, go for a run around the block and be in
position as soon as they ring the doorbell.”

“Copy
that,” she answered.

Al
and Sammy walked back around the horseshoe to the orange-roofed house and cut
through the lawn on a cement walk lined by bushes. A thrill of excitement shot
through Sammy as he mentally prepared himself for whatever might come next. The
sensation was quickly followed by a sharp throb in his leg that made him
grimace. Al rang the doorbell and waited. When nothing happened, he grabbed the
knocker on the door and banged it three times.

He
glanced at Sammy, his face set in a slight frown with uncharacteristic wrinkles
on his forehead. “You okay?”

Sammy
nodded and let out a long breath.
Not now. Please.
Twenty seconds passed
before Al rang and knocked again. This time they waited a full minute before Al
breathed into his com. “No answer.”

“Try
the door,” Justice ordered.

Al
pulled down on the handle. “Locked. Thumb recognition entry.”

Sammy
closed his eyes and thought back to the cave. The mother and father propped up
against the back wall, pale faces, hands resting at their sides. He could see
them with nearly perfect clarity. No missing thumbs.

“Any
sign of forced entry at the back of the house?” Sammy asked Justice over the
com.

“Nope.”

Sammy
thought about the maps of the neighborhood they’d studied. “You want us to try
to break in?”

“Not
yet,” Justice said. “We still have plenty of time to watch the area.”

“You
want to try a thermal check on the house?”

“They
could have a detector. It’d set off an alarm. Or they could have thermal
proofed it. Oh, what the heck.” There was a pause on the radio, then, “Nothing.
Either the house is thermal proofed or their clothes are, which is what
Commander Havelbert suggested during the briefing.”

Still
thinking of the maps Justice had shown him the previous night, Sammy suggested,
“What if Al and I expand our efforts into the next neighborhoods? If Al takes
the street to the east, I can go south. That way we don’t blow our cover, but
we’re nearby.”

Al
made a sound like he was going to object, but Justice cut him off. “Smart idea.
Give me regular reports. Avni?”

“Yeah?”
Avni answered.

“Walk
laps around the block until I give you the say so. Stay casual.”

Sammy
walked down the street and crossed over into a much larger neighborhood. He was
really only interested in one small area. A couple pushing a stroller walked
toward him. When they got closer and saw his attire, they stopped and turned
around to head in the opposite way. Sammy paid them no mind. As the afternoon
wore on, the air grew warmer and muggier. The residents didn’t seem to mind.
Children played outside on the grass and in the streets while parents weeded
their gardens or mowed their lawns.

Anna
spoke over the com, “Spotted the boat traveling north in the bay. It’s mixed in
with a party of four other boats. Six of us are in one cruiser with Garrett.
Juraschek, Kolomiyets is on his way to pick you up. I want you and Maru on his
team as our backup. Leave Berhane and Byron to watch the house.”

“Copy
that,” Justice answered. “Al and Sammy, head back this way. The rest of us will
jump on the cruiser.”

Sammy
and Al acknowledged the order. However, something compelled Sammy to check out
a hunch before returning to watch the orange-roofed house he believed to be
empty. The map, as he recalled it, showed a dirt path that traveled right along
the western skirt of the city. It nearly touched the backyard of the house with
the orange roof, then continued south. He left the paved street and walked
about twenty meters west until hitting the dirt road. He turned south and
examined the path, noting several faint footprints along the way.

“Kolomiyets
is here,” Justice said. “Be back when we’ve rounded up the bad guys.”

Sammy
followed the footprints over half a kilometer south, passing several houses
along the way.

“Sammy,
where are you?” Al asked. “I’m waiting for you near the house.”

“I’m
following a hunch,” Sammy answered. “Be right there.”

“You’re
not doing anything stupid, are you?”

“I
don’t think so. I’m on the west side of the city on a dirt road heading south.”

“Yeah,
I remember that road. I’ll take position west of the house so I’m closer to
you. Keep me posted if you spot something fishy.”

“Will
do.”

After
walking a bit farther down the path, the footprints Sammy was following turned
into the fence surrounding a backyard. There was no gate in the fence, no cuts
or bends. It appeared the owners of the footprints had simply hopped it. Sammy
did the same, putting one hand on the fence and using a light jump blast.

You
know, you could go to the front door like you did with all the other houses
, a
voice told him, but Sammy ignored that thought.

A
curtain fluttered in the upstairs window. He wondered if he was about to get
chased off the property by an angry homeowner or have the police called on him.
As he approached the sliding glass back door, he noticed the large doghouse in
the corner of the porch. Food bowl full. Water bowl empty. A doggie door had
been installed into the back wall of the house, right next to the sliding door.
No dog ran out to investigate or bark. Sammy hesitated, then took a step back.

“At
the boat,” Anna announced. “They aren’t answering our radio transmissions, so
we’re going to attach a cable and overload the circuits.”

Once
again, Sammy sensed movement in the house. He considered knocking on the back
door, but didn’t.

Where’s
the dog?
He weighed his options, staring at the doggie door as he
thought. A dark voice spoke in his mind.
Dog meat is better than human meat.

“Cable
attached. Jolting the boat. No one emerging from below deck.”

The
curtains covering the glass door swayed gently. A small crack appeared in between
the pieces of green-gold fabric. Sammy tried to see into the room, but couldn’t
distinguish anything. The wood surrounding the glass door bore small scratches
and dents, possible signs of a forced entry. A bead of sweat formed on his
brow, and he brushed it up into his hairline.
What do I do?

“Jolt
worked,” Anna said. “Boat is stalled. Preparing to board.”

Sammy
chose to act. He pulled on the door handle and found it locked. Movement came
from within the house; this time Sammy was sure he’d heard it. He took three
steps backward, shielding lightly. The next moment, two things happened.

A
thunderous sound came over his com, startling him enough that his next step
back caught on the porch, tripping him. At the same moment, the sliding glass
door shattered as a gun fired. As Sammy fell back, a searing pain tore through
his left arm, then a second in his left leg, and he cried out.

“Sammy!”
Al shouted. “What’s going on? Did you hear that?”

“The
boat was rigged!” Dinsmore cried. “It exploded. Three down in the water. Three
down in the water. Sending three more to recover and rescue.”

“I’ve
been shot!” Sammy yelled. “I’m down.”

“I’m
coming,” Al told him.

Sammy
tried to put both hands up to shield, but his left arm burned in pain. He
looked at the wound and saw a bloody mess where the bullet had torn a chunk of
meat from his shoulder and bicep. His leg, however, was unwounded. The curtains
flapped in the light breeze and one of the targets stood just inside staring at
Sammy and pointing the gun at his chest.

Across
the lawn at the house next door, the neighbors came running outside to
investigate. “Did you hear that?” one asked.

“Sounded
like a gunshot,” another answered.

“Get
inside!” Sammy ordered them. “Call the police!” Two more shots were fired. One
from the man in front of him, the other from the second floor window where
Sammy had seen movement earlier. He shielded both of them, scooting himself
along the ground as he did so. Voices from the rest of his team yelled over the
radio, but Sammy couldn’t focus with all the noise in his ear.

He
reached the side of the house, out of the line of sight of one shooter. From
the upstairs window came three more shots. Sammy caught a glimpse of the scared
face of Dr. Junko Sokama. Using his bad arm to shield, he slipped off his
backpack and removed his syshée and a small med kit. He let the med kit fall to
the ground. Then he rolled onto his back, used his feet as shields, and
returned fire at the target in the window. Dr. Sokama ducked back inside.

Sammy
worked quickly. Still keeping his feet up to blast, he rested the gun on his
chest, opened the med kit, and retrieved a syringe of antibiotics. He jammed
the needle into his wound, drained it, and threw it aside. Then he grabbed the
tube of paste that the Elite affectionately called “orange barf,” and squeezed
it over the bleeding tissue and muscle. Once he’d finished, he slapped a
bandage on. The whole process took him about fifteen seconds. During that time,
Al ran up to the fence.

“Al,
take cover!” Sammy warned. Then in a quiet voice, “Go around front, I’m heading
inside.”

“Your
arm okay?” Al asked over the com.

“It’ll
be fine. Let’s get these animals.”

“You
got it.”

As
the orange barf took effect, the pain in Sammy’s arm transformed from a sharp,
burning agony to a dull, throbbing agony, but at least he could now move it
without wanting to die. He got to his feet and checked every angle around him,
then limped toward the back door again.
My leg is fine
, Sammy told
himself repeatedly.
There’s nothing wrong with my leg
. None of these
thoughts made the aching go away. As he re-entered the porch space, his boots
crunched on the shattered shards of the glass door, announcing his return. He
shielded high and low, crouching slightly to be sure his whole body was
protected from the front.