Hostile Takeover Read online

Teller got to his feet. “I can do that. What are you going to do?”

  Adriana stood, meeting his gaze. “I’m going to get my own house in order.”

  Teller left with less anger than he’d had when he entered, but he’d transferred that negative energy to her. She felt a slow burn of anger in her belly, the kind born of being used by another person.

  If the Neos were behind this—and they were—only one person on the council was responsible.

  Elise Kisaan.

  She called up her retinal display. “Get me Anthony Taulke on the line. Immediately.”

  Chapter 11

  Corazon Santos • Fort Hood, Texas

  Corazon Santos spent the afternoon in the Shrine of the Child. Through the insulated walls of the tent, she could hear the muffled sounds of the crowded camp around her. She could imagine the blinding sunlight, the closeness of the heat and the smell of dust and bodies in the air.

  But inside, it was cool and dim and smelled faintly of the sage and incense her acolyte liked to burn in the morning service.

  She did not kneel, she did not pray, she just sat in a comfortable chair in the half-light, alone with her thoughts.

  Corazon thought about sleep. It might encourage a vision like the one that had set her on this path in the first place, but she did not expect one. It was not needed. She didn’t require a vision to tell her that the taking of LUNa City by the Neos would exact a response from the Earth governments. She had made herself the lightning rod of the New Earth Order on the planet, so it was natural to expect them to come for her. It was the logical conclusion.

  She studied the golden symbol of Cassandra. The curve of the globe, the slope of the half-hidden eye of the mysterious woman.

  She wondered if they would send Graves to take her. No, that would be too easy. Cassandra would want Cora to be tested more than that. Besides, she suspected Graves would refuse the order anyway.

  Cora knew she should hate him. There were those in her following who wanted him dead for destroying the Temple of Cassandra. How could she explain to these people that it was all part of Her plan? From the ashes of Her demise would rise the Child, Cassandra made flesh, and Graves had a role to play. An important role, but the future was not clear to her anymore. She needed to trust her instincts.

  She liked Graves. He knew his heart, that was what she liked about him. He did not see himself as strong, but he also did not let his doubts stop him from doing the right thing. He grieved for the lives he had ended. She saw all this in his face, and this made her glad Cassandra had chosen him to share her burden.

  Will I grieve the same way for the blood I am about to shed? Do I have that same capacity for sorrow?

  It didn’t matter. The test was nearly upon her, there was no way but forward.

  There was a flurry of action in the anteroom to the shrine and Maria slipped through the flap. “Pardon me, Corazon, but they are in the camp. I have Valeria.” She stepped aside to let an older woman enter the room. She was dressed identical to Cora and bore a striking resemblance to her.

  “Pass the word to begin the attack,” Cora said.

  • • •

  Routine is the enemy of vigilance. That was not a teaching of Cassandra, but a line from Cora’s own mouth.

  In the months her people had been in camp, she had done nothing to arouse the attention of the United States Army. When their food shipments arrived late or short, she counseled her people to smile and say thank you. When the latrines overflowed, they fixed the problem themselves or helped the army personnel fix it and showered them with thanks. She encouraged the young men and women to strike up personal friendships with soldiers their own age. She organized groups of refugees to take exercise walks all over the army base and enter as many buildings as possible.

  All for this moment. Cora stayed back from the group of a dozen young men and women who approached a side entrance to the command building.

  One of the teenagers broke off, sauntering toward the pair of guards at the door. A dark-haired young woman followed. “Que pasa, Liam,” she heard the boy say to one soldier as they bumped fists. The girl sidled up to the second soldier in a way that said they knew each other. The larger group waited for them, just as they did every morning.

  The pair of young refugees slipped Tasers out of their sleeves and attacked both soldiers. By the time their bodies hit the pavement, the rest of the refugee group was inside the building. In the hallway, two of the young men stripped the soldiers of their uniforms, while a girl hacked into the security station to disable the cameras in that zone. By the time the replacement soldiers were back outside at their post, a second group of a dozen refugees was inside the door.

  If all was going to plan, the same assault was happening at two more side entrances to the building. A truck containing a full platoon of armed fighters was backing up to the loading dock. Their plan ignored the heavily guarded main doors in the front of the building.

  “Take control of the armory,” she ordered.

  “Yes, Corazon.” The young team leader took six people and raced off down the hall.

  As she had waited outside, watching the team launch the assault, Cora’s heart had hammered at her rib cage. But now that the action had begun, she felt a freedom of movement, like her actions were preordained.

  “Who has the jamming device?” she asked.

  A girl wearing a heavy backpack, who looked no older than fifteen, raised her hand. “I do, Corazon.”

  We fight this war with children.

  From deep inside the facility, she heard the rattle of small arms fire. It had begun.

  She smiled and held out her hand to the girl. “Stay with me.”

  Her team moved swiftly through the tiled halls of the building, headed for the heart of the complex, the command-and-control center. All base operations, communications, and tactical support ran through this digital nerve center. They rounded a corner to find a soldier in uniform sprawled across the floor. A spatter of blood decorated the wall behind him.

  Cora heard the girl take in a sharp breath and she gripped her hand tighter. A few yards on, they passed two of their own slumped against the wall. The wide steel double doors at the entrance to the ops center were flung open and she could see rows of empty workstations facing a pair of immense wallscreens. A mix of two dozen uniformed and civilian personnel were kneeling along the back wall.

  “Over here, Corazon,” one of her people called. “I have the core open.” Cora took the silver case from the girl’s backpack and handed it to her technician. Another tech joined him and they argued in low tones.

  “What’s the holdup?” she hissed at them. She heard another distant burst of gunfire and thought of the dead men in the hallway.

  A scuffle broke out behind them and Cora turned to find that a group of the hostages had jumped two of her men. The soldier kneed her man in the gut and wrenched his rifle away.

  “Drop it!” Cora’s weapon was in her hand and she was advancing toward him. The rifle muzzle wavered and she pulled the trigger twice. Two blots of red appeared on his light green uniform shirt and the soldier crashed to the floor. She swung her aim to the second fighter. “Get back!” she screamed. “Now!”

  The row of workstations behind her winked out and she saw the people kneeling on the floor look up as their retinal displays went blank.

  “Jamming device activated,” said one of the techs.

  Cora turned her attention on the man who had lost his weapon. She hauled him to his feet and dragged his face close to hers. “Pick up your weapon and get these people locked up in one of the offices.”

  “Yes, Corazon.”

  She stepped back between the rows of desks, wanting nothing more than to steady her trembling legs against something sturdy. The heat behind her eyes threatened to spill over into hot tears.

  She had killed a man in cold blood—and he might not be the last one this day.

  Cora offered up a silent prayer to the man’s soul. She had
sworn to protect the Child. She had vowed to lay down her life for the Child. Her life. But instead she had taken another’s.

  These were acts that would not be forgiven. There was no act of contrition she could make to wash away that stain.

  Cora clenched her jaw until she heard ringing in her ears, then she relaxed.

  It was done. Forward was the only way.

  “Set the charges,” she said.

  Chapter 12

  William Graves • Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

  Graves dozed in the cavernous cargo bay of the logistics transport aircraft. He could have taken the diplomatic aircar back to the UN—a much nicer ride, to be sure—but he’d begged off. He’d had enough of policy meetings and diplomatic negotiations and the people who went along with those functions. Though he didn’t doubt their necessity, he did doubt his own ability to actually make a difference in the meetings.

  Instead, he focused on making the trains run on time. A few hours ago, this transport had been packed to the ceiling with food, tankers of water, tents, and educational supplies for local schools. Graves had been able to witness aid getting to where it made a difference. When he closed his eyes, he could still smell the dust of the Nigerian aid station in the air.

  The drone of the big transport’s engines translated into a steady, comforting vibration under his backside. He dozed.

  “Sir?” a familiar voice tried to penetrate his peaceful shell.

  “What is it, Jansen?” he mumbled back.

  “Sir? It’s Estes.”

  Graves opened his eyes to find Sergeant Estes crouched next to his seat, the light from above angling down so his face was in shadow. Graves felt a pang of regret as he wondered where in the universe Captain Jansen was now. Wherever it was, he just hoped she was safe.

  “Sorry, Sergeant. I used to have a right-hand woman who ran things for me.”

  “I heard she was good, sir.”

  “She was the best, Estes. The very best…” Graves unsnapped the harness and stood. “What’ve you got for me?”

  Estes’s expression was troubled. “I’m not sure, sir, but Ortega contacted me via private comms that there’s trouble at home.”

  “Home? You mean back at Hood?”

  Estes nodded. “Orders came from Washington to take Corazon Santos into custody.”

  Graves was all the way awake now. “Orders? From who?”

  “He doesn’t know, sir. A squad of MPs showed up and told the base commander they were there to take Santos. He let them … and all hell broke loose.”

  “Get me Maxwell on the horn. Right now.” Graves clenched his eyes shut in frustration. After the LUNa City fiasco, the best course of action was to negotiate with the Neos, not attack them. They all had enough on their plates without adding another crisis.

  “That’s the problem, sir. I can’t raise them. That’s why Ortega contacted me by private comms.”

  Graves stared at him. “It’s an army base, Sergeant. What do you mean you can’t raise them?”

  “I mean they’re not online, sir. Ortega thinks the fugees—sorry, sir, the refugees—might have done something—”

  “Tell the pilot to divert to Fort Hood and make best possible speed.”

  • • •

  The familiar swelter of the Texas summer did nothing to ease Graves’s mind as he strode down the ramp of the transport ship to the waiting aircar. Inside, Ortega sat with Colonel Maxwell, the base commander, a barrel-chested soldier whose pale, aquiline features were a marked contrast to Ortega. Neither looked eager to brief Graves.

  “What’s the situation, gentlemen?” Graves said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “A squad of MPs were sent from Washington to pick up Corazon Santos. They arrested a woman who claimed to be her, but it wasn’t. While that was going on, the Neos took the command building,” Maxwell said. “Commando style. Neat as could be. Just overwhelmed us in one move. They’re pros.” His voice had a measure of respect.

  “Casualties?”

  “We don’t know, sir.”

  “You don’t know if there were casualties?”

  “They have them inside. The place is locked down with some sort of EM shield. Drones don’t work and any attacks have been rebuffed. She’s got hundreds of civilians in there—theirs and ours. I’m afraid if we go in hard, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

  Graves thought about taking a stim and rejected the idea. What he needed now was a clear head.

  “Good call. What about the media?” he asked.

  “They’re here, but we’re keeping them off base for national security reasons. The rep from the White House is here, though.”

  Graves sighed. “Let me guess: white lady, dark hair, elf ears?”

  Maxwell and Ortega exchanged glances, then the colonel nodded.

  “Fucking great,” Graves muttered.

  “We have an assault plan ready for you to approve, sir.” Maxwell went on to describe a classic feint maneuver. Launch an open, noisy assault from the south while a small team entered the complex from the maintenance tunnels underneath the base.

  The aircar stopped at the temporary ops center set up in a hangar a half mile from the perimeter of the base command building. Graves put his game face on before he entered the space. These people needed a confidence boost, not a show of anger. Hell, he needed a confidence boost. Graves had the distinct impression that the Neos knew exactly what they were doing and he was the one playing defense.

  The holographic display of the base was on the tabletop. Graves looked around the room, realizing he was operating with all new people. The regular command center team were all in the building taken by the Neos. These replacements might be good, but they’d never operated as a team before today. Meanwhile, the Neos had control of his resources and a plan they’d been working on for who knew how long.

  Corazon Santos had effectively cut the head off the snake—and he was the snake.

  “We’re being jammed on all frequencies, sir,” Maxwell was saying. “Drones are useless, so—”

  “So we’re going in blind,” Graves finished for him. “How many of our people are in there?”

  Maxwell nodded at a young lieutenant. “On a typical day, we’ll have about two hundred people in the building, a mix of civilian and military. Because of the jamming device, we can’t access their implants for an exact census. There’s something else. Visuals show us these boxes are in the windows.” She passed Graves a tablet with a blown-up picture of an office window and a box sitting on a windowsill.

  He studied the picture, then zoomed out, looking for more of the boxes. He found them right where he expected to find them. “Son of a bitch,” he said. He passed the tablet to Maxwell. “You never had combat engineer training, did you?”

  Maxwell shook his head.

  “They’re explosives,” Graves said. “Set on all the structural points of the building. If we attack, they blow it.”

  Maxwell handed the tablet back. “Maybe they’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe they’re not,” Graves snapped back. “Are you willing to take that chance?”

  A familiar voice came from behind Graves, confidence laced with the slightest sneer. “We need to contain this situation, General Graves. You know they’re bluffing, and we can’t let a few pissant refugees take over a US Army base.” Helena Telemachus stepped into the ring of people around the tabletop holo. “It’s bad for your image.”

  Graves knew she was trying to provoke him, and it was working. “Clear the room,” he barked, his eyes never leaving H’s gaze. “Now.”

  “Why?” he said when they were alone. “Why did you try to arrest her? She’s done nothing to us.”

  “Wrong,” H shot back. “The Neos took LUNa City. What’s next? The White House? The UN? An army base?” She stabbed a finger at the holo of the command building. “A third of the world’s population are Neos. Today it’s an army base. What happens when they start taking over cities? This Corazon woman knows something. We use
her as a bargaining chip. Figure it out and shut this attack down.” She leaned in closer. “Or I will.”

  Graves stormed out of the command center and found Maxwell. “I need to talk to your prisoner. The one they thought was Santos,” he said to Maxwell, who led him quickly to an office door at the end of the hall guarded by a young airman.

  Graves put his hand on the door handle. “I’ve got it from here, Max.”

  The woman behind the desk had Cora’s long silver hair, luminous skin, and upright posture, but it was not her. Graves sighed and took the chair across from her. The woman smiled pleasantly.

  “Why am I not surprised?” he said.

  “The Corazon speaks highly of you, General.”

  “The Corazon has made me look like a fool, ma’am—what is your name?”

  “Valeria,” she said. “She wants you to know she had nothing to do with the LUNa City takeover.”

  The woman—Valeria—had another trait in common with Cora, Graves realized. She was cool under pressure, as if this interaction was insignificant against her larger mission. A true believer.

  “So Cora thinks the Neos are being framed?”

  Valeria’s look reprimanded him. “This is not a game to us, General. We took an oath to Cassandra. It is how we live our lives.”

  “By taking over army bases?”

  “We react to the circumstances at hand.”

  Graves rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. He could use that stim now. “What does she want?”

  Valeria smiled again. “You should ask her yourself, William. She’s waiting for you.”

  Chapter 13

  William Graves • Fort Hood, Texas

  Although he’d made the walk at least a thousand times, under the glare of floodlights and the eyes of a few hundred soldiers and civilians, the walk from the edge of the road to the front entrance of the Fort Hood command center felt much longer this time.

  The news media was on the base now. Someone had smuggled one outlet in, and Graves made the decision to let them all in rather than risk a charge that the army was hiding the truth from the public. The cynical part of him knew he’d be accused of something anyway, but why play into their hands like that?