A subtle agency omnibus, p.64
A Subtle Agency Omnibus, page 64
part #1 of The Metaframe War Series
“One caveat - without due care, lucid dreams can easily become nightmares beyond your control.” - Juliette Mirovar
* * *
Private airfield, Goathland, Yorkshire, August 22nd, 05:31
Overhead lights gleamed off the sleek body of the Spike 512 supersonic business jet as it rolled to a stop in the middle of the hangar. Within moments, an upright rectangular seam appeared in the white skin behind the cockpit. A door emerged from the body of the aircraft and swung down to the ground with a faint hum. Stairs pushed up from the inner surface of the door.
Chloe Armitage walked through the Spike’s open doorway and descended the stairs. She wore her dark-gray combat fatigues from the night before. Before her stood five men. A loose knot of Red Empire assassins, wearing their traditional garb and weapons. A four man ‘fist’ team led by Tamsah al Ramil, aka the Sand Crocodile. The fifth man, was tall, lean, much older than the others, with sandy-gray hair and dressed in a well-made black suit. He stood at attention next to a dark-blue Rolls Royce.
Behind Chloe, Marcus Drake hustled the struggling form of Ramin Kain from the plane. Kain’s head twisted this way and that, hidden beneath a tight-fitting black hood with a single opening over his nose.
Chloe came to a halt before one of the Red Empire assassins. He was the shortest of the four, barely five feet six inches tall, but thick-set, a veritable barrel of muscle and grit.
He looked up at Chloe with a pair of dark brown eyes like flat river stones, and introduced himself, “Ms. Armitage. I am Tamsah al Ramil, you may call me by that name or by Sand Crocodile. My men and I are at your service.”
“Please, Mr. Tamsah. Call me, Ma’am.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Your master’s instructions are clear? You are fully aware of our rules of engagement?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We are to serve you unto death, or if you order us to attack each other or the Red Empire - whichever comes first.”
“… Indeed,” Chloe observed, a slight smile caressing her lips. She looked intently into his eyes. “Are all the preparations made?”
“Yes. The Red Empire trap you requested has been built.”
“And tested?”
“Yes, of course. The Red Empire does not lack advanced engineering skills.”
Chloe’s left eyebrow arched quizzically. “Of that, I’m sure.” She glanced briefly at Kain. “But you will show me while Marcus ensures our guest is properly attended to.”
Tamsah al Ramil nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Then let’s proceed. Time is short.”
Chloe strode to the Rolls. Her driver bowed low and declared, “Ma’am. It is good to see you home again.”
“Yes, David, it is good to be home. Now please make haste for there is much to do, and little time to do it.”
“As you wish, Ma’am.”
Chloe slipped into the rear of the Rolls Royce saloon. Marcus, Kain and the Red Empire assassins went to a pair of Land Rovers. In less than thirty seconds, all three vehicles left the hangar in convoy heading east to Armitage Manor.
* * *
Ramin Kain’s heels dragged down a set of stone steps, clunking one after the other all the way to the bottom. He counted twenty steps curving to the right as they descended, clearly a spiral staircase. He sucked in air, there was a faint aroma of sea salt, the ocean must be nearby.
In a moment of clarity, he was thankful Marcus Drake wasn’t dragging him feet first into whatever hellhole he was being taken to. The stairs ended, he was thrust to his feet, a grip like iron on the back of his neck.
“I’m sick of hauling your carcass around. You can walk from here,” Drake declared, his voice heavy with irritation.
Ramin obeyed. Drake could rip his head off faster than he could think about it. The only thing stopping him from doing so was the will of Chloe Armitage. Ramin had no illusions about bargaining his way out of this mess. His only hope was to stay alive long enough for the Order of Thoth to rescue him. The Walker and Mirovar force teams would try to find him. Within a day or two, the other force teams would mobilize resources. All was not yet lost. Armitage would question him, that was obvious - he would have to spin it out as much as possible. Keep her thinking there was more to learn, keep giving her a reason to keep him alive.
He stumbled on a bit of rough, ancient flooring. “What the hell!”
“Shut up, and keep moving.”
“Do you think someone could build a level floor?”
A fist slammed into his gut, he jack-knifed forward, gasping for breath. Drake dragged him back upright, his heels coming off the floor. “Shut up, I said. Was that not clear enough for you?”
“Uh huh,” Ramin grunted.
He staggered forward. Drake helping him along with a ruthless slap here and there to guide him around corners and along corridors. A barely detectable breeze whispered past him - somewhere there was an opening to the outside - and a possible escape path. As bleak as things looked, Ramin had not given up on the idea of escape.
Drake twisted him around and pushed him hard up against a cold stone wall. There was a swishing noise, the bonds on his wrists fell away. His right hand was instantly pushed up high. A manacle snapped around his wrist, a chain clinking against the stone. His left hand was lifted up and manacled. A third brace was locked tight around his throat. Drake kicked his right foot back, a fourth manacle snapping tight around his right ankle. A second later, his left ankle was bound with a fifth manacle.
Ramin leaned forward. The chains attached to his throat rattling with him over the rock, his hands jerked back hard. The chains were all attached to each other behind him. If he pushed his face forward, his hands would be pulled backward, and vice versa.
He ramped hard, testing the strength of the chains, but without success. No matter how hard he struggled, there were no obvious means of escape. The black hood became wet with perspiration, clinging to his face like a mask alive with his growing fear. He took a deep breath, exhaled, sinking back against the cold stone of the wall.
A hand gripped the top of the hood, ripping it off Ramin’s head. He blinked owlishly, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights strung along the ceiling. He was chained to a solid stone wall. The chamber was four yards across and six long. There were two open entrances, one to his left and the other to his right. In the middle of the room stood Drake and Armitage behind a waist-high wooden table. On the table were a brown leather satchel and a large white bucket.
Armitage reached into the satchel and withdrew a large carving knife. She regarded it skeptically for a moment and remarked to Drake, “This looks a little blunt.” She sniffed with disdain. “But I suppose it will have to do.”
Ramin’s eyes widened; he pushed back hard against the cold stone of the wall. All thoughts of ‘toughing it out,’ evaporating like snowflakes in the summer sun.
Armitage fished around inside the satchel for a moment, then withdrew a large hypodermic needle and lifted it up to the light, studying it closely. She asked Drake, “Has this been cleaned since we last used it?”
Frowning and shaking his head, Drake sucked air through his teeth. “No, Chloe. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t.”
Ramin shivered.
Armitage sighed, raising an eyebrow. “Do we have any tourniquets?”
“Sorry - it’s another mess.”
“Really Marcus?”
“I’ve been rushed,” Drake offered, shaking his head. “It’s been the very devil lately to keep up with events.”
Armitage stroked his cheek lovingly. Leaning up, she kissed him. “It’s alright my dear. We’ll make do with what we have.”
Armitage and Drake dropped their embrace, turning to stare at Ramin, their eyes flashing, their grins sporting long fangs.
Ramin wondered what had gone wrong. The last twenty years had proceeded smoothly, beginning with the assassination of George Madison, the previous Head of the Order of Thoth, and his lover Mary Creeley. The framing and exiling of his chief rival, Arthur Slayne, had ensured his rise to the Head of the Order. For nearly twenty years, he’d subverted the leadership of the traditionalists and promoted men loyal to his cause. Establishing a secret detente with Cornelius Crane had been the last step in his master plan.
The goal was the transformation of the Order of Thoth into an efficient fighting force under his unquestioned rule. With most of the old traditions thrown into the bin of history where they belonged, he could wield the force teams as their sole commander-in-chief. The force leaders would be his trusted lieutenants. Then the detente with the vampires would be used to draw their forces into a deadly trap and victory would be his.
His plan was the fruit of genius and deserved to succeed. It would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for the insane arrival of Anton Slayne. A plague on his family; the Slayne line had to be stopped, extinguished to the last branch. If he ever managed to get out of this mess, he would see to it personally.
Anton Slayne gripped his imagination. An insolent, head-strong boy; no match for a man of his genius, and yet, Slayne was walking free somewhere while Ramin languished in a vampire’s dungeon.
A deep sense of injustice boiled within his soul. Incredulous rage ripped through him, making him bold. Ramin stood tall and called out, “Do your worst Armitage. Once Crane finds out that you haven’t kept me safe, you’re done for.”
Armitage laughed briefly. Blurring forward, she halted six inches in front of his face.
There was a slight pressure in his groin. He glanced down, the carving knife was in the crease of his thigh, pressing his trousers against his skin.
Armitage arched a quizzical eyebrow and asked, “Shall I cut left, or right? Shall it be a quick death, or shall I make you into a … what was the word you used?” her eyes sparkled with delight. “A girly.”
Oh my God! She remembered that.
Ramin’s testicles attempted to retreat into his body cavity. His anger vanishing, replaced with frigid tentacles of terror writhing in his gut. He pushed back hard against the stone wall and gasped out, “You will pay for this.”
Armitage stepped back for a moment, twirling the knife in a circle with her right hand. “I don’t know what it is, everyone keeps saying ‘you will pay,’ and yet, it never happens.”
The knifed flashed in the overhead lights; the blade slicing through the skin and muscle an inch below the inner crease of his right thigh. Ramin gasped in shock, it all seemed so unreal. A part of his mind had never admitted this could actually be happening; not to him, not to Ramin Kain, not to the smartest man in the room. Not to the one who always managed to get away with everything. The sight of his own blood spraying onto the flagstones of the floor and the ravenous fingers of pain radiating up from his groin destroyed any remaining doubts.
Armitage flashed away. Drake rushed forward with the white bucket. He placed it underneath the wound, catching Ramin’s blood as it rushed through his severed femoral artery.
Perspiration slicked Ramin’s forehead, a bead of sweat rolling into his left eye. His heart raced. He gasped for air, his life draining away with every beat of his heart.
Armitage scrunched back the left sleeve of her dark-gray combat fatigues, exposing the fair skin of her arm. She picked up the syringe, pressing the needle against the vein in the crook of her elbow. She applied more pressure and broke the skin. Drawing back on the plunger, the syringe filled with her blood.
She stared at Ramin, her eyes filled with intent. She was not playing with him anymore - the real game was about to begin.
Ramin’s skin paled with blood loss. His heart began to struggle to find blood to move through his veins. His breathing was almost useless. Armitage appeared in front of him, the needle of the syringe plunging between his ribs into the left ventricle of his heart.
It was like pouring nitrous oxide into a hard-revving V-8 engine. His heart surged. Armitage’s blood began spreading throughout his body. A ravishing fire sweeping through him, burning away all vestiges of his humanity. Transforming him into an apex predator, a creature of the night, a vampire.
Reality strobed, flashing in and out, bounded with utter darkness and searing light. The agony of the transformation went beyond sensation - becoming unutterable - beyond words and forms, shattering all distinctions, and rendering Ramin mute. Time disappeared, his mind fled, but there was nowhere to run to. There was only the experience of boundless suffering. A thing unto itself, overwhelming his reality and throwing down the walls of his sanity.
Ramin drooled, his lips trembling, mouthing words he couldn’t utter. His body vibrated. The chains binding him rattled and scraped across the cold stone.
The agony peaked, then evaporated away. Ramin sucked in a great breath and released it all at once. The transformation was complete.
The room was starkly lit, the angles sharp and clear. Down a corridor to the right, a noisy mouse scurried along the base of a wall. Its musky scent indicating it was moving into a fertile cycle. Waves were slowing breaking against the stony beach far to his left. The salty aroma of the sea was everywhere. Above him human voices talked in the Manor house - every word was crystal clear. Armitage stood in front of him, poised, immaculate, filled with dreadful purpose. Drake loomed beside her, relaxed, alert, and deadly.
The smell assaulted him like a hard slap in the face. His own blood, in a bucket near his feet. He lunged for it, blurring forward, the chains snapping taut dragging his hands back. Drool splashed from his mouth, he grinned a harsh joyless grin of ultimate effort. His tongue flicked desperately over his lips, his gaze focusing hard on the bucket. His nostrils flared, the need flooding through him was equally exquisite and horrible. A cavernous desire, an overwhelming force demanding immediate action.
“I must feed!” he shouted, staring ravenously at the bucket of blood. “Feed me. Give it to me. I must have it.”
Armitage dipped a handkerchief into the blood, wetting one corner. She placed it an inch in front of Ramin’s face. He strained to reach it. She moved it closer, a drop trembling on the corner of the cloth.
Ramin strained, the drop of blood fell onto his outstretched tongue.
Ambrosia! Nectar of the gods! His eyes fell shut for a brief moment as he savored his first taste of blood as a vampire.
Ramin swallowed, but there was almost nothing there. The thirst for blood, the ravenous hunger returned, now doubled in strength for he’d tasted its release. He wanted to tear at his face with frustration, but his manacled hands couldn’t reach. He stared at the still damp cloth in Armitage’s right hand, and at the bucket of blood behind her.
He panted, reflexively straining against the manacles and chains, but to no avail - they were beyond his new vampire strength to break.
Armitage leaned forward slightly and declared with avid interest, “Now we’re ready to begin the interrogation. Tell me, how does the Order haze the Panopticon feeds when conducting operations?”
Ramin stared at her in helpless desperation.
She waved the bloody cloth before his nose.
He started talking.
* * *
Richard Walker, the force leader for the United Kingdom arm of the Order of Thoth, scanned the private-airfield hangars with high-powered binoculars. He descended into silence, activating a partial ramp to become perfectly still.
Joan Lewis, the Walker force team loremaster sat on a fold-away stool next to her commander. Her laptop was open, and her implant lay warm in her forearm. She studied the private airfield and waited for Walker’s directions.
There were two hangars. A larger one, its doors shut, and a smaller one that had recently accepted an Embraer Legacy 500 business jet. A jet chartered out of Logan International airport by one Ramin Kain, a New York City businessman, or so stated its public flight plan.
A single, dark-blue Rolls Royce left the open hangar. Driving sedately through the private airfield’s main gate, it turned onto the main road heading toward the town of Whitby. The driver, dressed in a dapper black suit with sandy-gray hair was the only occupant.
“No sign of Ramin. Where’s the GPS signal?” Walker asked in a gravelly voice.
“Within the Rolls,” Joan replied. “Just as Juliette said, the Embraer is a decoy. Armitage’s jet will be in the other hangar.”
Walker lowered the binoculars, put his hands on the well-maintained wire fence surrounding the airfield and asserted confidently, “We can’t trust everything the Mirovar force team says. They’ve been compromised.”
“My own analysis concurs with Juliette’s.”
Walker scowled. “You’re both coming from the same information. You have the same blind spots.”
“I know the mind palace is not perfect. I take that into account.”
“Still,” he remarked, “we’ll send in Wilkinson and check the hangars before we follow the car.”
Joan glanced down at her laptop, the Rolls Royce was continuing to Whitby. The small town on the coast of Yorkshire was its most likely destination.
“Don’t worry,” Walker directed. “You can haze the cameras along our route. Wilkinson will be in and out in five minutes, and then we’ll follow the car.” He turned away from the fence and strode purposefully toward a pair of dark-gray, late model Range Rovers occupied by the rest of his team.
Joan snapped her laptop shut, flicked a stray strand of dark-red hair out of her eyes and followed after him. Her lips thinned, frowning, she tried to reconcile her force leader’s words with the honesty and trust she’d felt in Juliette’s mind over the implant link.
There was no betrayal or falsehood in Juliette Mirovar. In whatever way, the Mirovar force team had been compromised, it didn’t extend to their loremaster.
