Callsign: Queen - Book I (A Zelda Baker - Chess Team Novella) Page 4

  “All right. You can come along, but you keep up and keep quiet. Understand?” Beaming, Armina nodded. Queen looked her up and down. Her black jeans would do fine, but the bright yellow tank top and pale skin would make her stand out too much in the darkness. “We need to make a couple of changes. Put this on.” Queen unzipped her black jacket and handed it to Armina. While the girl slipped it on, Queen, now in clad only in black pants and a black t-shirt, set about rubbing dirt over her well-defined arms. She rubbed a little on her face for good measure and instructed Armina to do the same.

  “I think our furry friend is gone, but stay close to me,” she instructed as they completed their preparations. “We’re going to keep to the shadows as much as possible. And if I tell you to do something, you do it immediately, with no questions asked.”

  “All right.” Armina cocked her head and gave Queen a thoughtful look. “You know, you never told me your name.”

  “My name doesn’t matter.” She immediately saw the hurt in Armina’s eyes and amended her statement. “It’s Zelda, but nobody calls me that.” She knew giving her real name was a breach of protocol, but since Chess Team became a black-op, she officially no longer existed. Knowing her first name wouldn’t help identify her anymore than knowing her call sign.

  “You’re pretty,” Armina said. “I didn’t notice until we got into the light.” She pointed to the blue bandana covering Queen’s hair and forehead. “But you shouldn’t cover your hair.”

  Queen rolled her eyes and turned her head away. Beauty wasn’t something she thought about much since the branding. She didn’t go in for that girly crap anyway, but she tried to piece together a compliment that would help soothe Armina’s mind. “Never wish for what someone else has. You’re a good looking kid. You’ll be a beautiful woman—a princess.”

  “A princess.” Armina smiled. “I like that. We can be the queen and princess escaping from the lair of the evil wizard who wants me to marry him.”

  Queen smirked. What were the chances she’d have come up with ‘Queen’ on her own? “Come on then, princess. Let’s make our escape.”

  Chapter 6

  “Sir, we’ve got movement in the area of the stadium.” Andrew kept his eyes glued to the monitor as he spoke. “Moving fast, too.”

  “Is it our escaped subject?” Darius leaned down for a closer look. He was still perturbed at the carelessness of his staff. A bare-bones operation they might be, but there was no excuse for what had happened. If the escapee should make its way to civilization before regression, there was no telling what might happen. This was not the first escape, either, and still no one had discovered how the subjects were getting out. And if Manifold were to find out about it, well, Darius already had one strike against him.

  “It’s difficult to say, but we appear to have two distinct heat signatures.” Andrew sighed. “We need better equipment. Our security system covers such a limited area, and we have so few cameras. If we had more…”

  “You have what Manifold deems you need.” Darius’s rebuke cracked like a whip, bringing the man into line. “Need I remind you we are hiding in plain sight here? Cameras and sensors will be noticed unless they are hidden perfectly. That is why we are so limited in that area. If you feel yourself incapable of performing the duties of your position, that is another conversation entirely. Is that something you wish to discuss?”

  “No sir.” Andrew’s face reddened. “If they continue on their present course, they should pass the fixed camera at the stadium. Should I send the squad out to snatch them?”

  “Not just yet. We’ve already added one subject to our pool tonight. Keep an eye on them and see what they are doing. Worst case, we send one of the men out in a police uniform to warn them off for trespassing. No need to make things any more complicated than necessary.” He grimaced. Snatching the boy had been a risk, but they were in sore need of fresh subjects. The progression was still not working as it should, and regression wore on the body. Each cycle left the subject a little weaker, and a little less human.

  “They’re about to pass by the camera now.” Andrew seemed to have already forgotten the earlier chastisement. He was young and a bit inept at anything that did not involve a computer, but he was eager, hungry for advancement and had no moral issues whatsoever with the work they did here. “It’s two women. Rather, a woman and a girl. Wait! That’s the girl who was at the amusement park earlier. The one whose friend we snatched.”

  “You’re missing the important detail, Andrew.” The young man was correct about the girl, but Darius had eyes only for the woman. She was a trim, athletic little blonde, and attractive, if a touch on the muscular side, though the night surveillance camera did not offer the best resolution. She wore black pants, t-shirt, and a backpack, but what interested Darius was the gun she held in her right hand. He tapped the image on the screen. “Why is she armed?”

  “Sorry. Let me see what I can do.” With a few clicks, Andrew zoomed in on the woman’s face, took a set of screen captures, and fed them into Manifold’s security system. They waited for the system to come up with potential matches. The quality of the images would present a challenge, but the facial recognition system was state-of-the art. If this woman was known to Manifold, they’d have her identity in a matter of minutes.

  When the search result turned up onscreen, it gave Darius pause. This was a surprise, and not a pleasant one.

  “Zelda Baker, aka: Queen,” Andrew read. “Kill on sight. That’s it.” He turned to Darius, a deep frown on his face. “If Manifold knows about this woman, there should be more on her. Much more than what they’re giving us. There’s no bio, no psychological, no analysis. Why would this be all they give us? Is she that unimportant?”

  “Quite the opposite,” Darius said. “It means she’s too important for the likes of you to have access to information about her. Don’t feel badly about it. You’ll get there one day.”

  “So what do I do now?” The enthusiasm had drained from Andrew’s voice, and its dull tone matched his stony expression.

  “You see what it says there. Send the squad out to take care of them.” That raised Andrew’s spirits a little. He tapped the intercom and smiled as he passed along the Kill on Sight order.

  Darius left and headed back to his office. His level of clearance was higher than Andrew’s, though it was lower than it had been once upon a time. Perhaps he could learn a little bit more about Zelda Baker. If not, that meant she was a prize, and he just might earn his way back into Richard Ridley’s good graces by killing her himself—that is, if they ever heard from Ridley again. His last contact was a blast to all Manifold facilities, requiring them to continue research, but go silent and remain so until he made contact again. And if Ridley made contact before their research bore fruit, at least he’d have Queen to present as a sacrificial lamb.

  Chapter 7

  Something moved up ahead in the midst of the undergrowth surrounding the stadium. Suppressing her instinct to attack first and ask questions later, Queen grabbed Armina by the shoulder and shoved her to the ground. A man clad all in black and armed with a Kalashnikov AK-74, knelt behind a bush, clearly on the lookout. She could easily slip past the man, but she doubted Armina would be able to do the same. Furthermore, he was unlikely to be the only one out searching for her. She’d have to find a quiet way to take care of this.

  She mouthed the words “stay put” to Armina. The girl nodded, fear gleaming in her eyes. Unsheathing her KA-BAR, Queen made her move.

  She had plenty of practice moving silently through any terrain. Plus, there was a faint breeze that rustled the leaves, covering any sound she might make. She made a slow, methodical circle, all the while worried that the man, or one of his cronies, would spot Armina. Her pulse quickened as she crept closer to her target. The last ten feet was clear of any trees or ground cover. It seemed a yawning chasm. If she wanted to shoot him, she could take him out from here with ease, but the suppressor on her Mark 23 would not eliminate all sound,
and that would risk bringing more Manifold men down on her position. Besides, she wanted some answers.

  She rose up on the balls of her feet, ready to spring at a moment’s notice, and crept across the intervening space as silently as a cloud passing over the face of the moon. The man never knew she was there. At least, not until she delivered a roundhouse kick to his temple that knocked him stupid. He slumped over on his side, his rifle falling to the ground. Queen was on him in an instant, pinning him down, her knife at his throat and a gloved hand over his mouth. She had made certain to kick him hard enough to stun him but not hard enough to kill him.

  “Are you working for Manifold Genetics?” she whispered. The man blinked, his eyes a bit foggy, and then he nodded. “Are you experimenting on people here?” The man shrugged. “You’re lying.” She pressed down on the knife.

  His head was rapidly clearing, and as his eyes focused in on Queen, surprise and fear melted away, replaced by contempt. It had happened far too many times—her size and looks invited underestimation, especially from stupid people, who seemed to comprise the vast majority of the world’s population. This man appeared to be one of those, and she could sense he was about to make a big mistake.

  “Last chance to live, pal. Tell me what Manifold is up to here.” Her voice was a whisper of frozen velvet, but he could not sense the danger that lurked there. He stared up at her, his eyes flinty with defiance, and gave a little shake of his head.

  “Fine by me.One less asshole in the world.”

  His eyes suddenly grew wide and he gave a vigorous nod. What a pansy.

  “I’m going to move my hand and let you answer me. Keep it quiet or that’s it for you. Do you understand?” He nodded again, and she slid her hand up to his nose in case she had to clamp it quickly back over his mouth.

  “You can rot in hell!” He grabbed her knife arm with his left hand and reached for her throat with his right.

  Any member of Chess Team could have told this idiot that Queen, despite her size, was no weak little girl to be tossed around like a rag doll. Queen batted his grasping hand away from her throat as easily as swatting a fly, covered his mouth before he could cry out any more, and forced her knife down toward his throat.

  The man now clutched her knife arm in both hands, trying desperately to keep the razor sharp KA-BAR at bay. He was strong, but not strong enough. Sweat beaded on his forehead and terror filled his eyes as the blade of her knife came down in slow motion like a guillotine in sore need of WD 40. He thrashed about, trying to dislodge her, but he could not. As Queen looked into his eyes, every horror perpetrated by Manifold flashed through her mind. This man, she reminded herself, was another agent of their evil, and an accomplice in the sacrifice of humanity for the sake of Richard Ridley’s lust for power. With a grunt, she forced her knife down. Warm blood sprayed her hand as the KA-BAR did its work with cold efficiency.

  Something buzzed past her head and she heard the report of a rifle. She hit the ground and rolled to cover, trying to pinpoint the direction of the shooter. Another bullet buzzed past her, and she knew the shooter was somewhere behind Armina. The girl had not cried out. Either she was being exceptionally brave, or they had taken or perhaps killed her.

  “Armina!” she called out as loudly as she dared. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” The girl’s voice was faint. “What is happening? Where are you?”

  “Crawl to the sound of my voice. Hurry!” To her credit, Armina ceased her questions and complied immediately. Moments later she emerged from the underbrush, her face pallid but her eyes resolute. “We’re going to make for the stands.” Keeping low, she led Armina toward the old stadium that overlooked the grounds through which they now crept. It was difficult to imagine this sparsely wooded area had once been an athletic field. Good thing it’s no longer an open field, she thought, or we’d be dead.

  Just short of the stadium, the wooded area gave way to a wide swath of cracked asphalt that had once been a track. Queen looked around for pursuers and, seeing none, grabbed Armina by the arm, took a deep breath and dashed across the open space.

  They had almost made it across when someone opened fire on them.

  A torrent of bullets tore into the stadium’s foundation, sending up a spray of concrete that stung as it scoured Queen’s face. No slugs ricocheted their way though, and they scrambled up the steps and behind the shelter of a low concrete wall that ran in front of the bottom row of seating. The stadium itself remained in surprisingly good condition after all these years. Its foundation appeared solid and the rows of wooden bleachers were still in place, though the wood was decaying in places. It looked to Queen as if, at any moment, spectators would come filing through the concourses and take their seats. This is what they mean by ‘ghost town,’ she thought. It truly feels like a place frozen in time.

  “You see that concourse up there?” She inclined her head to the exit tunnel several rows up. Armina nodded. “When I start shooting, you make for that tunnel as fast as you can. When you get on the other side, find a place to hide and I’ll catch up.”

  Queen knew their enemies would be keeping a close eye on the spot where they had last seen her and Armina, so she crawled forty feet along the wall before popping up, weapon in hand, looking for a target.

  A dark-clad man carrying a rifle was creeping across the track. Queen spared a moment to take careful aim and squeezed off two rounds. The man went down, but her attack was immediately answered by gunfire from over her left shoulder. She ducked down behind the protection of the wall and blindly fired off three shots in the attacker’s direction. She hoped that would buy Armina enough time to get away. She stole a glance toward Armina and was relieved to see her disappear into the tunnel. She turned back in time to see a muzzle flash in the distance as the Manifold agent took a potshot at the heels of the fleeing girl. The distance was too far and the cover too dense for an accurate shot with a handgun, so Queen held her fire, but now she had a bead on him.

  The agent probably expected Queen to escape by the same path as Armina. He would be wrong. Remaining down and protected, she crawled along the bottom row of seats, picking her way through debris and trying to make as little sound as possible. She moved past the spot from which the last shot had come and crawled to the stairs on the opposite end. If the man had half a brain, he’d soon be growing suspicious that she had not yet tried to escape. She would have to do this fast.

  She crept down the stairwell and peeked up over the railing. There he was, slinking through the darkness, careful to always keep a tree between himself and the spot where Queen had last fired. She picked up a chunk of concrete and flung it down to the far end of the stadium, where it bounced twice on the bleachers, the decaying wood muffling the sharp cracking sound before it clattered down the concrete steps.

  Unable to see much in the darkness, the man open fired in the direction of the noise. Bullets sparked off the metal framework that supported the bleachers, and rotten wood splinters erupted like a geyser. The sound of her approach masked by the barrage of gunfire, Queen sprinted across the track and took him from behind. She buried her knife at the base of his skull.

  Her victory was short-lived. She heard the thud of several booted feet coming her direction. With no time to spare, she grabbed the dead man’s Kalashnikov and dashed away.

  Armina called to her as soon as Queen burst through the concourse. “Zelda, I’m over here!”

  “Don’t use my name,” Queen muttered, as Armina beckoned from the blackness of a tunnel that led back underneath the stadium. “I can’t protect you and take care of business at the same time. You get back inside there and hide. I’ll make sure they follow me and not you.”

  “But I can’t see anything back there. It’s pitch black.”

  “Even better. They won’t be able to see you.” Armina had held it together surprisingly well up to this point, but now her lip trembled and Queen feared the girl would soon lose it. “Calm down. Look, I’ll come with you. Let’s go.�
�� She shoved the girl back down the tunnel and flicked on her flashlight long enough to see sagging metal doors twenty feet back. They hurried down the tunnel and squeezed inside, leaving the doors ajar just as they had been.

  They found themselves in a locker room. A bench ran down the center, and cage-like metal lockers, large enough for a person to stand inside, lined the walls on either side. An open doorway on the far end led to a shower room.

  The clatter of footsteps echoed outside, and Queen heard muffled voices. They aren’t very good at keeping quiet, are they? She chalked it up to the dual arrogance of superior numbers and testosterone. In any case, she had no time to waste.

  “Get inside one of these lockers and don’t make a sound until I come back for you.” She pushed Armina into the closest locker and hastily pushed the door partway closed. She hurried to the locker room doors, taking off her backpack as she ran. She peered through the open door to see the silhouettes of at least five men coming slowly down the passageway. Perfect!

  She took out an F1 fragmentation grenade, nicknamed “limonka,” or “little lemon,” yanked the pin and released the spoon. Giving it a second to cook, she pitched it through the open doorway and dashed back into the locker room, praying she didn’t trip over or slam into anything in the darkness. The F1 had a four and-a-half second fuse, and the men in the tunnel had no time to react before it blew.

  The sound was deafening, and the light from the flash gave Queen a quick glimpse of the shower room up ahead. She ducked inside and readied the Kalashnikov. She doubted she’d gotten lucky enough to take them all out, and she was proved correct when a flash of gunfire erupted from the far end of the locker room by the doorway. The guy was shooting blind, and the bullets spattered the wall outside the shower room. She responded with a quick burst of gunfire and then rolled to the side as a hail of bullets buzzed past her like angry hornets. She had given away her position, but that was by design. She wanted to draw them past Armina’s hiding place, and get them to pursue her instead.